And when on life's ocean we turn our slight prow, May the lighthouse of Hope beam like this on us now— Life's billow, frail billow.

With hope-light, the true-light, we'll bound o'er life's

billow

Life's billow, frail billow;

With hope-light, the true-light, we'll bound o'er life's billow.

CAROLINE HOWARD.1

THE THREE FISHERS.

THREE fishers went sailing away to the west-
Away to the west, as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him best,-
And the children stood watching them out of the

town:

For men must work, and women must weep;
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour-bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse-tower,

And they trimmed the lamps-as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the

shower;

And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and

brown:

But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbour-bar be moaning.

Three corses lie out on the shining sands,

In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down; And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the town: For men must work, and women must weep; And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. KINGSLEY.

1 Née Gilman, a Bostonian, U.S.A. (1794–1890); the wife of a littérateur, the mother of another, and herself a voluminous writer of considerable talent. How excellently she has caught the motion of rowing in this song!—the conceits in which seem to bespeak an Irish temperament.

DIRGE AT SEA.

SLEEP! we give thee to the wave,
Red with life-blood from the brave.
Thou shalt find a noble grave.
Fare thee well!

Sleep!-thy billowy field is won;
Proudly may the funeral gun,
'Midst the hush at set of sun,
Boom thy knell !

Lonely, lonely is thy bed;
Never there may flowers be shed,
Marble reared, nor brother's head
Bowed to weep.

Yet thy record on the sea,

Borne through battle high and free,
Long the red-cross flag shall be.

Sleep! Oh, sleep!

FELICIA HEMANS.

THE WHITE SQUALI.

THE sea ran high and the barque rode well,
The breeze bore the tone of a vesper-bell;
'Twas a gallant barque with a crew as brave
As e'er was launched on the heaving wave.
She shone in the light of declining day;
Each sail was set, and each heart was gay.

They neared the land wherein beauty smiles,
The sunny shores of the Grecian Isles;
All thought of home and welcome dear,
Which soon should greet each wanderer's ear;
And in fancy joined the social throng,

In the festive dance and the joyous song.

A white cloud glides through the azure sky,—
What means that wild, despairing cry:
Farewell, the visioned scenes of home!
That cry is "Help!" where no help can come.
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is 'gulfed in an ocean grave.

ANONYMOUS.

CHANTIES

The gondoliers of Venice while away their long midnight hours on the waters with the stanzas of Tasso. Fragments of Homer are sung by the Greek sailors of the Archipelago; the severe labour of the trackers in China is accompanied with a song which encourages their exertions and renders them simultaneous. Our sailors at Newcastle have their "Heave and ho!"

I. D'ISRAELI.

RIO GRANDE.1

(WINDLASS OR CAPSTAN.)

Oн, where are you bound to, my yaller gal?—
Heave-o, Rio!

Oh, where are you bound to, my yaller gal?—
We're bound to the Rio Grande!

Then it's heave-o, Rio! Heave-o, Rio!
And fare you well, my bonny young gal,
For we're bound to the Rio Grande!

Oh, where are you bound to, bully boys all?--
Heave-o, Rio!

Oh, where are you bound to, bully boys all?—
We're bound to the Rio Grande! etc.

Oh, what to do there, my bully boys all?--
Heave-o, Rio!

Oh, what to do there, my bully boys all?—
In that far away Rio Grande! etc.

To load up with gold, my bully boys all!—
Heave-o, Rio!

To load up with gold, my bully boys all!—
Away in the Rio Grande! etc.

Or die of the fever, bully boys all!-
Heave-o, Rio!

Or die of the fever, bully boys all!-
Away in the Rio Grande! etc.

THE FLASH PACKET.

(CAPSTAN.)

'Tis of a flash packet of bully-boy fame

Bound away! Bound away!

She sails from the Mersey, and the Dreadnought's her

name

Bound away! Bound away!

1 These chanties are arranged as they would be sung on a round voyage out and home again. They are printed here as I wrote them down from the chanty-men at sea. The list is incomplete; but it is probably enough, for without the occasion, and the "roll and go" of ship and tongues and work, they are apt to seem to be merely foolish to landsmen's ears. Yet to hear them properly sung in their places, especially the hauling and capstan chanties, is a most inspiriting experience. The choruses are printed in italics and the solo parts in roman.