The Bourbon flowers grow pale

When I hang out my pennon ;
I'll win thee gold and gems

With pike and cutlass clashing,
With all my broad sails set

And all my cannon flashing.

Come with me and see

The golden islands glowing,
Come with me and hear

The flocks of India lowing ;
Thy fire shall be of spice,

The dews of eve drop manna,
Thy chamber-floor of gold,

And men adore thee, Anna.


IN the waves the wind was sleeping,

Swift the boat approach'd the land;
There a lovely maid was weeping,

Who can female tears withstand ? Hush'd at once the boatswain's ditty,

Gently dipp'd his silent oar; While he said, in sounds of pity,

“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more.” Then on land he sprung so lightly,

While, with mingled hopes and fears, Raised her head and beaming brightly,

Shone her blue eyes through her tears.

Left exposed to want and danger,

Friendless on a foreign shore; “ Ah !” she said, “ you vainly, stranger,

Kindly tell me, weep no more.

“ Far from home in exile roving,

Who shall now my shelter be, Lost each friend, so loved, so loving,

Now what heart shall feel for me? Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,

Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore, Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,

Die, Nanine, and weep no more.'

“ Mark,” he cried, “yon distant city,

There my shelter thine shall be, Mark my bosom, swell’d by pity,

There's a heart which feels for thee; All my wealth I here surrender,

'Tis not gems or shining ore; 'Tis a heart, warm, honest, tender,

Take it, sweet, and weep no more.”

Gently tow’rds his boat he led her,

Soon it touch'd his native strand, There his labour clothed and fed her,

There he gain'd her heart and hand. Still with love his eyes behold her,

Still, though many a year is o'er, Does he bless the hour he told her,

“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more !”



WENT to sea with heavy heart,
Of her I loved the scorn,
Yet from my thoughts did ne'er depart

Her image night and morn:
Storms lour’d, waves rollid, and lightning flew,
Yet did I wish to live,.
Still willing, for my heart was true,
To forget and to forgive.

The first word, when on English ground,
I spoke, was her false name,
And soon upon enquiry found—
For scandal flies—her shame;
She loved a youth before the wind,
Who cut, and let her drive;
Avast! cried I, 'twere now too kind
To forget and to forgive!

While of these thoughts my mind was full,
While adverse hopes and fears
Like winds did this and that way pull,
She came to me in tears.
Down went my colours, and I swore
For her alone I'd live;
Kiss'd her, and promised o’er and o'er
To forget and to forgive.


SHEN last honest Jack, of whose fate

I now sing,
Weigh'd anchor and cast out for sea,
For he never refused for his country and

To fight, for no lubber was he;
To hand, reef, and steer, and bouse everything tight
Full well did he know every inch,
Though the toplifts of sailors the tempest should

smite, Jack never was known for to flinch.

Aloft from the mast-head one day he espied Seven sail which appear'd to his view, Clear the decks, sponge the guns," was instantly

cried, And each to his station then flew, And fought until many a noble was slain, And silenced was every gun; 'Twas then that old English valour was vain, For by numbers, alas ! they're undone. Yet think not bold Jack, though by conquest dismay'd Could tamely submit to his fate; When his country he found he no longer could serve, Looking round, he address’d thus each mate; “ What's life, d’ye see, when our liberty's gone ? Much nobler it were for to die; So now for Old Davy”—then plunged in the main ; E’en the cherub above heaved a sigh.


HROUGH winds and wave sin days that

are no more I held the helm and ne'er ran foul of

shore, In pitch-dark night my reck’ning proved so true I rode out safe the hardest gale that blew, And when for fight the nal high was shown Through smoke and fire Bob Boreas straight bore

down; But though my timbers are not fit for sea, Old England's wooden walls my toast shall be.

From age to age, as ancient story shows,
We ruled the deep, in spite of envious foes ;
And still aloft, though worlds combine, we'll rise,
Now all at home are spliced in friendly ties ;
In loud broadsides we'll tell both France and Spain,
We're own’d by Neptune sov'reigns of the main.
Oh, would my timbers now were fit for sea !
Yet England's wooden walls my toast shall be.


HEN last in the Dreadful your honour

set sail On Newfoundland banks there came on

a hard gale, There was thunder, and lightning, and cold whistling

hail, Enough the old gemman to scare.

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