XX

The Bay of Biscay O!

LOUD roar'd the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge show'rs;
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid pow'rs!
The night both drear and dark;
Our poor deluded bark!
Till next day,

There she lay,

In the Bay of Biscay O!

Now, dash'd upon the billow,
Her op'ning timbers creak:
Each fears a wat❜ry pillow!
None stop the dreadful leak!
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds
Each breathless seaman tries,
As she lay,

Till the day,

In the Bay of Biscay O!

At length the wish'd-for morrow
Broke through the hazy sky;
Absorb'd in silent sorrow,

Each heav'd a bitter sigh!—
The dismal wreck to view
Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay,

On that day,

In the Bay of Biscay O!

Her yielding timbers sever;

Her pitchy seams are rent!
When Heav'n (all bounteous ever)
Its boundless mercy sent!

A sail in sight appears!

We hail her with three cheers!
Now we sail

With the gale

From the Bay of Biscay O!

ANDREW CHERRY.

XXI

The Mid-watch

WHEN 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come,
And chilling mists hang o'er the darken'd main,
Then sailors think of their far distant home,
And of those friends they ne'er may see again.
But when the fight's begun,

Each serving at his gun,

Should any thought of them come o'er our mind, We think, should but the day be won,

How 'twill cheer

Their hearts to hear

That their old companion he was one!

Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind

Have left on shore, some pretty girl and true, Who many a night doth listen to the wind,

And sighs to think how it may fare with you,-O when the fight's begun,

Each serving at his gun,

Should any thought of her come o'er your mind,
Think, only should the day be won,

How 'twill cheer

Her heart to hear

That her own true sailor he was one.

R. B. SHERIDAN.

XXII

I am a brisk and sprightly lad

I AM a brisk and sprightly lad,

But just come home from sea, sir,
Of all the lives I ever led,

A sailor's life for me, sir.

Chorus.

Yeo, yeo, yeo,

Whilst the boatswain pipes all hands,
With yeo, yeo, yeo.

What girl but loves the merry tar,
We o'er the ocean roam, sir,

In every clime we find a port,
In every port a home, sir.

Yeo, &c.

But when your country's foes are nigh,
Each hastens to his guns, sir,

We make the boasting Frenchmen fly,
And bang the haughty Dons, sir.
Yeo, &c.

Our foes reduc'd, once more on shore,
We spend our cash with glee, sir,
And when all's gone we crown our care,
And out again to sea, sir.

Yeo, &c.

XXIII

The Fisher's Life

WHAT joy attends the fisher's life!
Blow, winds, blow!

The fisher and his faithful wife!
Row, boys, row!

He drives no plough on stubborn land,
His fields are ready to his hand;
No nipping frosts his orchards fear,
He has his autumn all the year!

The husbandman has rent to pay,
Blow, winds, blow!
And seed to purchase every day,
Row, boys, row!

But he who farms the rolling deeps,
Though never sowing, always reaps;
The ocean's fields are fair and free,
There are no rent days on the sea!

XXIV

We'll go to Sea no more

Он blythely shines the bonnie sun
Upon the isle of May,

And blythely comes the morning tide

Into St. Andrew's Bay.

Then up, gude-man, the breeze is fair,
And up, my braw bairns three;
There's gold in yonder bonnie boat
That sails so well the sea!

When life's last sun goes feebly down,

And death comes to our door,

When all the world's a dream to us,
We'll go to sea no more.

I've seen the waves as blue as air,
I've seen them green as grass;
But I never feared their heaving yet,
From Grangemouth to the Bass.
I've seen the sea as black as pitch,
I've seen it white as snow:
But I never feared its foaming yet,
Though the winds blew high or low.

I never liked the landsman's life,
The earth is aye the same;
Give me the ocean for my dower,

My vessel for my hame.

Give me the fields that no man ploughs,

The farm that pays no fee:

Give me the bonnie fish, that glance

So gladly through the sea.