If unassail'd by squall or shower,
Wafted by the gentle gales,
Let's not lose the fav'ring hour,

While success attends our sails.

Or, if the wayward winds should bluster,
Let us not give way to fear;
But let us all our patience muster,
And learn from reason how to steer.
Let judgment keep you ever steady,
"Tis a ballast never fails;

Should dangers rise, be ever ready

To manage well the swelling sails.

Trust not too much your own opinion
While your vessel's under weigh;
Let good example bear dominion,
That's a compass will not stray.
When thund'ring tempests make you shudder,
Or Boreas on the surface rails,
Let good discretion guide the rudder,

And Providence attend the sails.

Then when you're safe from danger riding,
In some welcome port or bay,

Hope be the anchor you confide in,
And care awhile enslumber'd lay:
Or, when each can's with liquor flowing,
And good fellowship prevails,

Let each true heart, with rapture glowing,
Drink"success unto our sails."

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

DIMOND.

IN slumber of midnight the sailor-boy lay, His hammock slung loose at the sport of the wind;

But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew

away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dream'd of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry mornWhile Mem'ry stood sideways, half cover'd with flowers,

And restored each rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy riseNow, far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear,
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse-all hardships seem o'er, And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest— "Oh, God! Thou hast bless'd me, I ask for no more."

Ah! whence is that flame, which now bursts on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear? "Tis the light'ning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the

sphere!

He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deckAmazement confronts him with images direWild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreckThe masts fly in splinters-the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell— In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave!

Oh! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss— Where now is the picture that Fancy touch'd bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honey'd kiss?

Oh! sailor-boy, sailor-boy, never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay. Unbless'd and unhonoured, down in the main,

Full many a score fathom thy fame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,

And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow, Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll.

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye-
Oh! sailor-boy, sailor-boy, peace to thy soul!

THE SAILOR'S DIRGE.

"Naval Chronicle," 1803.

EW up the hammock! Death has laid
Poor Jack in honour's bed;
Heave out a sigh, and lower away,
Our gallant messmate's dead.

A right true-hearted lad was he,

A seaman stout and bold;

He loved his friend, he loved his girl,
But now his heart is cold.

So long as French or Spaniard fought,
No lion was more brave;

But when he cried for quarter, none
Than Jack more free to save.

When overboard, and struggling hard
For life's dear sake was I,

Though wild the waves and loud the wind,
Jack heard my piteous cry.

He ask'd no leave of paltry fear,

But swam and took me out:
Now Jack must sink and I may swim,
So fortune veers about.

THE SAILOR.

An Elegy, by SAMUEL ROGERS.

HE sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
As all its lessening turrets bluely fade;
He climbs the mast to feast his eyes once
more,

And busy Fancy fondly lends her aid.

Ah! now, each dear domestic scene he knew,
Recall'd and cherish'd in a foreign clime,
Charms with the magic of a moonlight view,
Its colours mellow'd not impair'd by time.

True as the needle, homeward points his heart,
Through all the horrors of the stormy main;
This the last wish with which its warmth would part,
To meet the smile of her he loves again.

When morn first faintly draws her silver line,

Or eve's gay cloud descends to drink the wave,