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“But should I be popp'd off, you, my mates left

behind me, Regard my last words, see them kindly cbey'd : Let no stone mark the spot: and, my friends, do you

mind me,

Near the beach is the grave where Will Watch

would be laid.” Poor Will's yarn was spun out, for a bullet next

minute Laid him low on the deck, and he never spoke

more.

His bold crew fought the brig while a shot remain'd

in it,

Then sheer'd, and Will's hulk to his Susan they

bore.

In the dead of the night his last wish was complied

with; To few known his grave, and to few known his end, He was borne to the earth by the crew that he died

with ;

He'd the tears of his Susan—the prayers of each

friend. Near his grave dash the billows, the winds loudly

bellow; Yon ash, struck with lightning, points out the cold

bed Where Will Watch the bold smuggler, that famed

lawless fellow, Once fear’d, now forgot, sleeps in peace

with the dead.

THE PILOT.

H, pilot ! 'tis a fearful night,

There's danger on the deep;
I'll come and pace the deck with thee,

I do not dare to sleep.”
“Go down,” the sailor cried, “ go down,

This is no place for thee;
Fear not, but trust in Providence,

Wherever thou mayst be.”

“Ah, pilot! dangers often met

We all are apt to slight,
And thou hast known these raging waves

But to subdue their might.' “ It is not apathy,” he cried,

“ That gives this strength to me; Fear not, but trust in Providence,

Wherever thou mayst be.

« On such a night the sea engulpl’d

My father's lifeless form ;
My only brother's boat went down

In just so wild a storm;
And such, perhaps, may be my fate,

But still I say to thee,
Fear not! but trust in Providence,

Wherever thou mayst be.”

TOPSAILS SHIVER IN THE WIND.-1804.

HE topsails shiver in the wind,

The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,

Are, Mary, moor’d with thee;
For, though thy sailor's bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.

Should landsmen flatter when we're sail'd,

Oh, doubt their artful tales;
No gallant sailor ever failid,

If love breathed constant gales :
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Syrens in ev'ry port we meet,

More fell than rocks or waves ;
But such as grace the British fleet

Are lovers and not slaves :
No foes our courage shall subdue,
Although we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares—but if you're kind,

We'll scorn the dashing main,
The rocks, the billows, and the wind,

The power of France and Spain.
Now England's glory rests with you,
Our sails are full, sweet girls, adieu !

THE BATTLE OF LA HOGUE OR

RUSSELL'S TRIUMPH.

HURSDAY in the morn, the nineteenth

of May, Recorded for ever the famous ninety

two,
Brave Russell did discern by break of day

The lofty sails of France advancing to.
All hands aloft, they cry, let British valour shine,
Let fly a culverine, the signal of the line.
Let every man supply his gun,

Follow me, you shall see
That the battle it will soon be won.

Tournville on the main triumphant rollid

To meet the gallant Russell in combat on the deep; He led a noble train of heroes bold,

To sink the English admiral at his feet.
Now every valiant mind to vict'ry doth aspire:
The bloody fight's begun--the sea is all on fire;
And mighty Fate stood looking on,

Whilst a flood, all of blood,
Fill’d the scuppers of the Royal Sun.
Sulphur, smoke, and fire, disturbing the air,

With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic shore; Their regulated bands stood trembling near,

To see their lofty streamers now no more.
At six o'clock, the Red, the smiling victors led,

To give a second blow, the fatal overthrow.

Now death and horror equal reign:

Now they cry, Run or die,
British colours ride the vanquish'd main.

See, they fly, amazed, through rocks and sands!

One danger they grasp at, to shun the greater fate. In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands,

The nymphs and sea-gods mourn their lost estate. For evermore adieu, thou dazzling Royal Sun ! From thy untimely end thy master's fato’s begun; Enough, thou mighty god of war;

Now we sing, bless the king! Let us drink to every British tar.

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ROLL, LIQUID MOUNTAINS, ROLL.

D. BRUGUIER, 1803.
JOLL, liquid mountains, roll!

Shake from your heads the hoary spray,
Ye cannot daunt the seaman's soul,

Though dangerspreads his pathless way.
Flash, vivid lightnings, flash!

Blow, tempests, blow,
Thunders dire,

The seaman braves the dreadful crash,
Though billows to the clouds aspire.
Rise, pointed rocks, arise,

Assaulted by the foaming surge,
Sailors your flinty sides despise,
When friendship, love, and honour urge.

Flash, vivid lightnings, flash, &c.

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