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

Her poor head with wild frenzy fir'd,

She flew from the crowd, softly cried, my poor heart!

Clasp'd her hands, faintly sigh'd, and expir'd. 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, On Polly of Portsea, and Joe the Marine,"

The Curly-Headed Boy.

MY father was a farmer, and father's son am I, And down in these parts I were born;

When but a saucy urchin, not half a handful high, I tended the sheep night and morn.

My dad and mammy spoil'd me, I was their only joy, And they call'd me their pretty little curly-headed boy;

So I play'd and prank'd it prettily, for life was but a toy,

To the very merry pretty little curly-headed boy.

But soon I shot up taller, ill weeds they grow a pace,

Then who were so likely as I?

The ruddy glow of healthfulness stood laughing in my face,

And I recon I look'd pretty sly;

For the village girls would titter, and would cry with joy,

See there goes the pretty little curly-headed boy. So I kiss'd and romp'd it prettily, for love was but a toy,

To the very merry saucy little curly-headed boy.

Now dad and mam are dead and gone, the little farm's my own,

But so stupid's a bachelor's life,

Ize resolv'd for sure and sartain, Ize no longer live

alone,

So in that case mun get me a wife.

Then the image of his dad I shall see, to crown my joy,

On my knee another pretty little curly-headed boy. O, I'll nurse and teach prattily, while wife will cry wi' joy,

How like his dad's the pretty little curly-headed boy.

The Storm.

CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer!
List, ye landsmen, all to me;
Messmates, hear a brother sailor

Sing the dangers of the sea:
From bounding billows first in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,

To the tempest-troubled ocean,

Where the seas contend with skies,

Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,-
By top-sail sheets and halyards stand!
Down top-gallants, quick be hawling!
Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces;

Quick the top-sail sheets let go;
Luff, boys, luff, don't make wry faces!
Up your top-sails nimbly clew!

Now all you on down-beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms,
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
Free from all but love's alarms:-
Round us roars the tempest louder;
Think what fears our minds enthrall!
Harder yet, it yet blows harder!
Now, again, the boatswain call!

The topsail-yard point to the wind, boys ;
See all clear to reef each course;
Let the fore-sheets go; don't mind, boys,
Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail-yard get:
Reef the mizen; see all clear;

Hands up, each preventer-brace set;
Man the fore-yard; cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring;
Peal on peal contending clash !
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring!
In our eyes blue lightnings flash!

One wide water all around us

All above us one black sky!
Diff'rent deaths at once surround us!
Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The foremast 's gone! cries ev'ry tongue out,
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck;
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out;
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick the lanyards cut to pieces:
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold!
Plumb the well! the leak increases!
Four feet water's in the hold!

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating;
Alas! to them there's no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us;

Both chain-pumps are choak'd below;
Heaven have mercy here upon us!
For only that can save us now!

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys;
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pump come ev'ry hand, boys,
See our mizen mast is gone.

The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast;
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;

Up, and rig a jury foremast;

She rights, she rights, boys! we're off shore,

Now once more on joys we 're thinking,
Since kind fortune spar'd our lives;
Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking
To our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,

Close to th' lips a brimmer join:
Where's the tempest now? who feels it?
Nope! our danger's drown'd in wine!

Mr. Lobski's Fishing Tale.
YOUNG LOBSKI said to his ugly wife,
"I'm off till to-morrow to fish, my life."
Says Mrs. Lobski, "I'm sure you an't,
But, you brute, you are going to gallivant."
To gallivant, to gallivant,

You brute you are going to gallivant.

What Mrs. Lobski said was right,
Gay Mr. Lobski staid out all night;

He ne'er went to fish, 'tis known very well,
But where he went to I shall not tell.

I shall not tell, &c,

Next morning Mr. Lobski knew

He had caught no fish, so he bought a few,
Thinks he, my wife won't smoke my plot,
And she will bite tho' the fish did not.

Though the fish did not, &c.