For though the Muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain,

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind

To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at sea.
With a fa, la, &c.

Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchman, or by wind:
Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring them twice a day.
With a fa, la, &c.

The king, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rise,
Than e'er they did of old:
But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs.
With a fa, la, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know

Our sad and dismal story,

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe

And quit their fort at Goree:

For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind? With a fa, la, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind;

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:
"Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend or who's our foe.
With a fa, la, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;
Or else at serious ombre play;
But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you.
With a fa, la, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit careless at a play;

Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa, la, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in ev'ry note,

As if it sigh'd with each man's care
For being so remote,

Think, then, how often love we've made
To you when all those tunes were play'd.
With a fa, la, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our distress,
When we for hopes of honour lose
Our certain happiness.

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your

With a fa, la, &c.

love.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears,
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears;

Let's hear of no inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, &c.

THE PILOT.

Roxburghe Ballads.

HEN lightnings pierce the pitchy sky,
And o'er the ocean's bosom fly;
When roaring waves each other whelm,
The hardy pilot takes the helm,

He puts to sea, resolved to save,

Or perish in the briny wave.

The signal of distress he hears,
And to the found'ring vessel steers,
He boldly hails th' exhausted crew,
Who, cheer'd by him, their toils renew,
And bless the pilot, come to save,
Or perish in the briny wave.

They work the pumps with double force,
He calmly points the helmsman's course,

His steady orders all obey,
And now the vessel, on her way,
Pursues the pilot, bent to save,
Or perish in the briny wave.

With anxious care her course they keep;
She struggling rides the angry deep:
In smoother water soon she sails,
The crew, huzza! then warmly hails
The hardy pilot, bent to save,
Or perish in the briny wave.

SONG.

"Naval Chronicle," Vol. XXVIII, 1812.

Y the friends we have lost-by the smile

we can never

Again in life's loveliness view;

By the ties of attachment death only
could sever,

Those ties the same hand shall renew:

By the tear we have shed o'er the tomb of the cherish'd,

O'er days ne'er to bless us again,

Let us still give a sigh to the hope that has perish'd, But a smile to the hope which remains.

Oh! still, as the circle of social affection

Of some valued heart is bereft,

While we treasure through life their beloved

recollection,

Let us cling to the few that are left:

Down our cheek while the tear-drop of anguish is

stealing,

A solace e'en then it may prove,

To view the sad glance of reciprocal feeling,
When it beams from the eye that we love.

Oh! this is the charm which shall brighten to-morrow, With the joys that we cherish to-day; 'Tis the pilot who steadies our vessel of sorrow, "Tis the star which enlightens its way: And if e'er, o'er the sea of adversity driven, That bark has no pilot to steer;

That star, beaming light from the portals of heaven, Shall bid us seek fortitude there.

LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

WILLIAM COWPER.

OLL for the brave,

The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore.

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset,
Down went the Royal George,

With all her crew complete.