When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

T. CAMPBELL.

XXXIX

A Sea Song

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast
And fills the white and rustling sail
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
But hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

XL

Sir Patrick Spens

THE king sits in Dumfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;

O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'

O up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee;
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea.'

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

'To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter o' Noroway, 'Tis thou must bring her hame.'

The first word that Sir Patrick read So loud, loud laugh'd he;

The neist word that Sir Patrick read The tear blinded his e'e.

'O wha is this has done this deed And tauld the king o' me,

To send us out, at this time o' year, To sail upon the sea?

skeely] skilful.

Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter o' Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame.'

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,
Wi' a' the speed they may;
They hae landed in Norway
Upon a Wodensday.

'Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'!
Our gude ship sails the morn.'
'Now ever alack, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.

'I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
1 fear we'll come to harm.'

They hadna sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,

And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmast lap,

It was sic a deadly storm:

And the waves cam owre the broken ship
Till a' her sides were torn.

'Go fetch a web o' the silken claith,

Another o' the twine,

And wap them into our ship's side,

And let nae the sea come in.'

They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,

And they wapp'd them round that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel'd shoon;
But lang or a' the play was play'd
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bed
That flatter'd on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit

Wi' their gowd kames in their hair,
A-waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see nae mair.

Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdour,
'Tis fifty fathoms deep;

And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet!

flatter'd] tossed afloat.

kames] combs.

XLI

The Saylor's only Delight

Shewing the brave Fight between the GeorgeAloe, the Sweepstake, and certain Frenchmen at Sea

THE George-Aloe, and the Sweepstake, too, with hey, with hoe, for and a nony no,

O, they were Marchant men, and bound for Safee, and alongst the cost of Barbary.

The George-Aloe to Anchor came, with hey, &c.

And the jolly Sweepstake kept on her way, and alongst, &c.

They had not sailed leagues two or three, with hey, &c.

But they met with a Frenchman of war upon the Sea, and alongst, &c.

All hayl, all hayl, you lusty Gallants,

with hey, &c.

Of whence is your fair Ship, whether are you bound? and alongst, &c.

We are Englishmen, and bound for Safee,

with hey, &c.

Of whence is your fair Ship, or whether are you

and alongst, &c.

Amain, amain, you gallant Englishman,

with hey, &c.

bound?

Come, you French Swads, and strike down your sails,

and alongst, &c.