But year after year, in a Subaltern's state,
Honest Ben for his King fought and bled,
Till time had unthatch'd all the roof from his pate,
And the hair from his temples had fled.
It happen'd he met (since his pate it was bare),
The First Lord of the Admiralty once-
"Honest Ben," quoth his Lordship," you've lost all your Since I last had a peep at your sconce:
"Why, my Lord," replied Ben," it with truth may be said,
That bare-poles I long have stood under;
When so many young Captains walk over my head,
To see me quite bald 'tis no wonder.'
Air" Dear Tom this Brown Jug."
DEAR Tim, this black jack, now so full of stout whiskey,
Out of which I will drink to fat Judy, so frisky,
Was once a tin kettle, a solder'd old squire,
As ever boil'd water, for tea on the fire;
For simpering and singing it never was chid,
And in boiling away, always puff'd off the lid."
It chanced as it sit on the coal-fire one day,
With just enough water, to simper away,
Old Kate she step'd out for a pinch of Scotch snuff,
And forgot in this pot to put water enough;
The fire soon it dried, and the sides, were burnt out,
The solder was melted, and off dropt the spout.
The shell in the alley long time had been lain,
And by travelling at dogs' tails was beat flat again,
At length 'twas pick'd up--to the tinker brought back-
Faith! out of the kettle he form'd this black jack,
Now sacred to whiskey, to mirth and mild ale,
I'll drink to sweet Judy in Kilmainham jail.
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,
Where 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 hauling—
Down your stay-stails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces
Now the top-sail sheets let go
Luff! boys, luff! don't make wry faces-
Up your top-sails nimbly clew."
Now all you at home in safety,
Shelter'd from the howling storm,
Tasting joys by heav'n vouchsaf'd ye,
Of our state faint notions form.
Round us roars the tempest louder,
Think what fear each mind enthrals;
Harder yet, it yet blows harder,
Now again the boatswain calls!
"The top-sail-yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course-
Let the fore-sheet 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 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;
Different deaths at once surround us--
Hark!--what means that dreadful cry?
"The foremast's gone!" cries every 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 in the hold !"
While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives and 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;
Heav'n 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'er board 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, wear off shore.”
Now, once more, peace round us beaming,
Since kind heav'n has sav'd our lives,
From our eyes joy's tears are streaming
For our children and our wives.
Grateful hearts now beat in wonder
To him who thus prolongs our days;
Hush'd to rest the mighty thunder,
Ev'ry voice bursts forth his praise.
THE FORSAKEN.
Air" Oh no, we never mention her."
THEY tell me that his heart is changed,
Does absence rend the ties
Of young affection that would make
This earth a paradise?
'Tis true, I asked no parting vow
And he is free to rove;
But oh! he must remember how
I trusted to his love.
But vows can never bind the soul
That struggles to be free;
Love languishes in slavish bonds,
His home is liberty.
The treasures of my heart are cast
Like wrecks upon the deep,
And these wild tears they are the last
My eyes shall ever weep.
But if my pale and alter'd form
Should meet his eye in vain,
Reproaches-no my heart shall break,
It never shall complain.
And oh! I feel that very soon
My sun of life will set;
But till my heart shall cease to beat
It never shall forget.
OH! come to me when day-light sets;
Sweet then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.
When Mirth awake, and Love begins,
Beneath that glancing ray,
With sound of lutes and mandolins,
To steal young hearts away.
Oh! come to me, &c.
Oh! then's the hour for those that love,
Sweet! like thee and me ;
When all so calm below, above,
In haven and o'er the sea.
When maiden's sing sweet Barcarolles,
And Echo sings again,
So sweet, that all with ears and souls
Should love and listen then.
So come to me, &c.
PADDY CAREY'S FORTUNE.
'Twas at the town of nate Clogheen,
That Sergeant Snapp met Paddy Carey ;
A claner boy was never seen,
Brisk asja bee, light as a fairy:
His brawney shoulders four feet square:
His cheeks like thumping red potatoes;
His legs would make a chairman stare!
And Pat was lov'd by all the ladies!
Old and young-grave and sad-
Deaf and dumb-dull or mad-
Waddling, twadling, limping, squinting,
Light, brisk, and airy,-
All the sweet faces at Limerick races,
From Mullinavat to Maghera-felt,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt!
The souls would cry, and look so shy,
"Och! Cushlamachree, did you never see
The jolly boy, the darling joy, the ladies' toy,
Nimble-footed, black-ey'd, rosy-cheek'd,
Curly-headed Paddy Carey !
O, sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy !
Nate little, tight little, Paddy Carey ?"
His heart was made of Irish oak,
Yet soft as streams from swate Killarney, His tongue was tipt with a bit o' th' brogue, But the deuce a bit at all of the blarney.
|