Unless some kind, some pitying Power She labours so, within this hour Bnt see on rosy pinions borne, Reluctant beams the sorrowing morn, Deceitful sorrow, cheerless light— The morn is risen, in endless night She splits! she parts!—through sluices driven Adieu, ye friends! have mercy, Heaven! CONSTANCY. HE surge hoarsely murm'ring, young The spray rudely dashing as salt as The ship's in the offing, perpetually rocking,- many, Here I bitterly wept, and I bitterly weep; Here heart-whole he swore to return to his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that nods over the deep. Ah! mock not my troubles, ye pitiless breakers; many; Here, here will I die, where I bitterly weep: Some true lover shall write the sad fate of poor Fanny, On the trembling pine that hangs over the deep. Thus her heart sadly torn with its wild perturbation, No friend but her sorrow, no hope but the grave; Led on by her grief to the last desperation, She ran to the cliff, and plunged into the wave. A tar saved her life-the fond tale shall please many; Who before wept her fate, now no longer shall weep; "Twas her Jack, who, returning, had sought out his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that hangs over the deep. TACK AND HALF-TACK. HE Yarmouth roads are right a-head, By the dip eleven! Lash'd in the chains, the line he coils, By the mark seven! And now, lest we run bump ashore, He heaves the lead and sings once more, Quarter less four ! About ship, lads, tumble up there, can't you see? Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, haul, mainsail haul, Haul off, all! And as the long-lost shore they view, The next tack we run out to sea, And as they name some beauty dear, And now while dangerous breakers roar, About ship, lads, tumble up there, can't you see? Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, haul, mainsail haul, Haul off, all! And as the long-lost shore, &c. Thus tars at sea, like swabs at home, For one tack more, and 'fore the wind, Now make the land both true and kind, By the mark seven ! Then heave the lead, my lad, once more, And a half four! About ship, lads, tumble up there, can't you see? Overhaul all! And as the long-lost shore, &c. BLEAK WAS THE MORN. LEAK was the morn when William left his Nancy, The fleecy snow frown'd on the whiten'd shore, Cold as the fears that chill'd her dreary fancy, While a young tar the ample trousers eyed, F Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean, Grief all in vain; In joy to meet again. Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow Where the dear name of honest William stood, Poor Nancy saw, toss'd by a faithless billow, A ship dash'd'gainst a rock that topp'd the flood: Her tender heart with frantic sorrow thrilling, Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore, No longer could resist a stroke so killing, "Tis he, she cried, nor shall I see him more. Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean? Sorrow's all my portion, Misery and pain! Break my poor heart, Never to meet again. Mild was the eve, all nature was a-smiling Four tedious years had Nancy pass'd in grief, When, with her children the sad hours beguiling, She saw her William fly to her relief! Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her, But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy, While her grown young ones anxiously surround her, And now Will clasps his girl and now his boy. Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean, Sorrow's all a notion, Grief all in vain? Never to part again! |