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Now dashed upon the billow,

Our opening timbers creak,
Each fears a wat’ry pillow,

None stops the dreadful leak;
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds

Each breathless seaman crowds,
As she lay, till the day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

At length the wished-for morrow,

Broke through the hazy sky,
Absorbed in silent sorrow,

Each heaved a bitter sigh ;
The dismal wreck to view,

Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay, on that day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Her yielding timbers sever,

Her pitchy seams are rent.
When Heaven all bounteous ever,

Its boundless mercy sent;
A sail in sight appears,

We hail her with three cheers,
Now we sail, with the gale,

From the Bay of Biscay, O!


WHEN 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come,

And chilling mists hang o'er the darken'd main,
Then sailors think of their far distant home,
And of those friends they ne'er may see again;

But when the fight's begun,

Each serving at his gun, Should any thought of them come o'er your mind, Think only should the day be won,

How 'twill cheer

Their hearts to hear
That their old companion he was one.

Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind

Have left on shore, some pretty girl, and true,
Who many a night doth listen to the wind,
And sighs to think how it may fare with you;

0, when the fight's begun,

You serving at your gun,
Should any thought of her come o'er your mind,
Think only should the day be won,

How 'twill cheer

Her heart to hear
That her old companion he was one.



Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do you see,

'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me,

And it aʼnt to a little I'll strike. Though the tempest top-gallant mast smack smooth should snite,

And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,

And under reef'd foresail we'll scud:
Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;
For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ;
And, my timbers ! what lingo he'd coil and belay ;

Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch;
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,

Without orders that come down below;
And a many fine things that proved clearly to me

That Providence takes us in tow:
For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft

Take the top-sails of sailors aback,
There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I said to our Poll—for, d'ye see, she would cry

When last we weigh'd anchor for sea, What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?

Why, what a damn'd fool you must be! Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?
And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

You never will hear of me more.
What then? All's a hazard : come, don't be so soft:

Perhaps I may laughing come back;
For, d’ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,
And with her brave the world not offering to flinch

From the moment the anchor's a-trip.
As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,

Nought's a trouble from a duty that springs,
For my heart is my Poll's, and my



friend's, And as for my life 'tis the king's. Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback;
For the same little cherub that sits up aloft

Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!



Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear

The main-mast by the board ;
My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,

And love, well stored,
Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,
The roaring winds, the raging sea,

In hopes on shore,

To be once more
Safe moor’d with thee!

Aloft while mountains high we go,

The whistling winds that scud along, And surges roaring from below,

Shall my signal be,

To think on thee; And this shall be my song:

Blow high, blow low, &c.

And on that night when all the crew

The mem’ry of their former lives O'er flowing cans of flip renew,

And drink their sweethearts and their wives, I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee; And as the ship rolls on the sea, The burthen of my song shall be

Blow high, blow low, &c.



HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,

The darling of our crew ;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,

For death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty;

His heart was kind and soft ; Faithful, below, he did his duty,

But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare ;
His friends were many and true-hearted;

His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly ;

Ah, many's the time and oft!
But mirth is turned to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,

When He, who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,

In vain Tom's life has doffed ; For though his body's under hatches,

His soul is gone aloft.



One night came on a hurricane,

The sea was mountains rolling, When Barney Buntline turn'd his quid,

And said to Billy Bowling : “A strong nor-wester's blowing, Bill ;

Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities all

Unhappy folks on shore now !

Fool-hardy chaps who live in towns,

What danger they are all in
And now lie quaking in their beds,

For fear the roof should fall in
Poor creatures how they envies us,

And wishes, I've a notion,
For our good luck, in such a storm,

To be upon the ocean.

“ And as for them who're out all day,

On business from their houses, And late at night are coming home,

To cheer their babes and spouses ; While


and I, Bill, on the deck, Are comfortably lying, My eyes! wliat tiles and chimney-pots

About their heads are flying

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