Each gave a duck, then took his luck,

Returning to his gun;
But bravely to our work we stuck,

And made the Rooshans run.
Each gave a duck, then took his luck,

Returning to his gun,
And bravely to our work we stuck,

And made the Rooshans run.
For many a day, in this here way,

We sailors fought ashore,
Their ships still skulking in the bay-

They'll never float in more;
Afraid our fleet e’en once to meet,

Those stupid Rooshan elves, Without a shot sunk all the lot,

But two we struck ourselves.
Says Bill to me, “Why, we at sea

Had done it twice as quick,
But then the fun we could not see,

Of dodging Whistling Dick.”
Says Bill to me, “Why, we at sea

Had done it twice as quick,
But then the fun we could not see,

Of dodging Whistling Dick."


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Naval Chronicle, Vol. xii. 1804.
YRITISH sailors have a knack,

Haul away! yo ho, boys !
Of pulling down a Frenchman's jack,

'Gainst any odds, you know, boys.

Come three to one, right sure am I,

If we can't beat them, still we'll try To make old England's colours fly;

Haul away! yo ho, boys !

British sailors, when at sea,

Haul away! yo ho, boys!
Pipe all hands with merry glee,

While up aloft they go, boys !
And, when with pretty girls on shore
Their cash is gone, and not before,
They wisely go to sea for more;

Haul away! yo ho, boys !

British sailors love their king,

Haul away! yo ho, boys !
And round the bowl they love to sing,

And drink his health, you know, boys !
Then, while his standard owns a rag,
The world combined shall never brag
They made us strike the British flag ;

Haul away! yo ho, boys !


North Country Ballads, Vol. 11.
N storms, when clouds obscure the sky,

And thunders roll, and lightnings fly,
In the midst of all these dire alarms,
I think, my Sally, on thy charms.
The troubled main,
The wind and rain,

My ardent passion prove;

Lash'd to the helm,

Should seas o'erwhelm,
I'd think on thee, my love.

When rocks appear on every side,
And art is vain the ship to guide:
In varied shapes when death appears,
The thought of thee my bosom cheers.

The troubled main, &c.

But should the gracious powers be kind,
Dispel the gloom, and still the wind,
And waft me to thy arms once more,
Safe to my long-lost native shore,

No more the main

I'd tempt again,
But tender joys improve;

I then with thee

Should happy be,
And think on nought but love.


IST! list to the storm, see the dark

frowning sky; The breakers are foaming, the billows

run high, Hark! hark ! now the minute gun booms o'er the

wave, 'Tis a signal for help from the bold to the brave.

Bear a hand, my brisk lads! See! a sail through

the mist, Standing up 'gainst a sea she can never resist; The gale is o'erwhelming-her storm-beaten crew Can ne'er keep her off-boys, there's now work for you. Still wilder the blast, and the sea mountains high, She strikes ! my brave hearts, to our lugger we fly! Heave-a-ho! we're afloat, trust your skipper's tried

skill, His heart knows no danger, and yours fear no ill. Pull away, pull away, o'er the breakers we ride, Our arms full of strength, and our hearts full of pride! Pull, pull, boys, together, she'll soon make the wreck, And cheer every heart on that storm-stricken deck.

See, see, now her mainmast is gone by the board,
She rights-pull away, boys, our help quick afford!
Now, now, every hand, every heart do its best,
And Heaven shall be with us, our toil shall be blest.
Stand by, now, my hearts, heave a line from your bow,
Be cool, boys, be steady, we are well by you now.
Veer away, set the fore-sail, for shore now we run,
Hurrah! boys, we've saved them, and our duty is



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E sail'd away in a gallant bark,

Roy Neill and his fair young bride, He had ventured all in that bounding ark,

That danced o'er the silv'ry tide.

But his heart was young, and his spirit light,

And he dash'd the tear away,
As he watch'd the shore recede from sight

Of his own sweet Dublin Bay.

They'd sail'd three days, when a storm arose,

And the lightning flash'd the deep;
The thunder-crash broke the soft repose

Of the weary sea-boy's sleep.
Roy Neill, he clasp'd his weeping bride,

And he kiss'd her tears away-
“Oh, love ! 'twas a fatal hour,” she cried,

“When we left sweet Dublin Bay.

On the crowded deck of the doom'd ship,

Some stood in their mute despair; And some more calm, with pious lip,

Sought the God of the storm in prayer. « She's struck on the rocks !" the sailors cried,

In the breath of their wild dismay, And the ship went down, and the fair young bride,

That sail'd from Dublin Bay.



HO ever saw a noble sight,

That never view'd a brave sea-fight?
Hang up your bloody colours in the air,
Up with your fights and your nettings


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