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Roar, thundering cannons, roar,

Death-dealing bullets whistle round,
Let cowards wish themselves ashore,
A British sailor loves the sound.

Flash, vivid lightnings, flash, &c.

POOR JOE THE MARINE.

OOR Joe the Marine was at Portsmouth

well known, No lad in the corps dress’d so smart; The lasses ne'er look'd on the youth with

a frown,
His manliness won every heart:
Sweet Polly, of Portsea, he took for his bride,

And surely there never was seen
A couple so gay march to church side by side,

As Polly and Joe the Marine.

The bright torch of Hymen was scarce in a blaze,

When thundering drums they heard rattle, And Joe in an instant was forced to the seas,

To give the bold enemy battle; The action was dreadful-each ship a mere wreck,

Such a slaughter few soldiers have seen, Two hundred brave fellows lay strew'd on the deck,

And amongst them poor Joe the Marine.

But victory, faithful to true British tars,

At length put an end to the fight; Then homeward they steer full of glory and scars,

And soon had famed Portsmouth in sight;

The ramparts were crowded, the heroes to greet,

And foremost sweet Polly was seen; But the very first sailor she chanced for to meet,

Told the fate of poor Joe the Marine.

The shock was severe, as lightning's fork'd dart,

Her poor heart with frenzy wild fired, She flew from the crowd, softly cried, “My poor

heart!” Clasp'd her hands, faintly sigh’d, and expired. Her body was laid ’neath a wide-spreading yew,

And on a smooth stone may be seen, “ One tear-drop let fall, all ye lovers so true,

For Polly and Joe the Marine.”

BRYAN AND PEREENE.

A West Indian Ballad. From Reliques of

Ancient English Poetry.
HE north-east wind did briskly blow,

The ship was safely moor’d,
Young Bryan thought the boat's crew

slow,
And so leapt overboard.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,

His heart long held in thrall,
And whoso his impatience blames

I wot ne'er loved at all.

A long, long year, one month and day

He dwelt on English land,
Nor once in thought would ever stray,

Though ladies sought his hand.

For Bryan he was tall and strong,

Right blithesome rollid his een, Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,

He scant had twenty seen.

But who the countless charms can draw,

That graced his mistress true ? Such charms the Old world never saw,

Nor oft, I ween, the New.

Her raven hair plays round her neck,

Like tendrils of the vine,
Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,
Her
eyes

like diamonds shine.

Soon as his well-known ship she spied

She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,

All in her best array.

In seagreen silk so neatly clad

She there impatient stood,
The crew with wonder saw the lad

Repel the foaming flood.

Her hands a handkerchief display'd

Which he at parting gave,
Well pleased the token he survey'd,

And manlier beat the wave.

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Her fair companions, one and all,

Rejoicing crowd the strand,
For now her lover swam in call,

And almost touch'd the land.

Then through the white surf did she haste

To clasp her lovely swain,
When ah! a shark bit through his waist,

His heart's blood dyed the main !

He shriek’d; his half sprang from the wave,

Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,

And ah! was seen no more.

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,

Fetch water from the spring;
She falls, she falls, she dies away,

And soon her knell they ring.

Now each May morning round her tomb,

Ye fair, fresh flow'rets strew,
So may your lover 'scape his doom,

Her hapless fate 'scape you.

THE NEGLECTED TAR. EDWARD Rushton of Liverpool, born 1756, died 1814.

SING the British seaman's praise,

A theme renown'd in story;
It well deserves more polish'd lays,

Oh !’tis your boast and glory.

When mad-brain'd war spreads death around

By them you are protected;
But when in peace the nation's found
These bulwarks are neglected.
Then, oh! protect the hardy tar,

Be mindful of his merit,
And when again you're plunged in war,

He'll show his daring spirit.

When thickest darkness covers all,

Far on the trackless ocean, When lightnings dart, when thunders roll,

And all is wild commotion, When o'er the bark the white-topp'd waves

With boist'rous sweep are rolling, Yet coolly still the whole he braves, Untamed amidst the howling.

Then, oh! protect, &c.

When deep immersed in sulph'rous smoke,

He feels a glowing pleasure;
He loads his gun, he cracks his joke,

Elated beyond measure.
Though fore and aft the blood-stain’d deck

Should lifeless trunks appear, Or should the vessel float a wreck, The sailor knows no fear.

Then, oh ! protect, &c.

When long becalm'd on southern brine

Where scorching beams assail him, When all the canvas hangs supine

And food and water fail him,

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