XXV THE ROYAL GEORGE TOLL for the Brave! The brave that are no more! Eight hundred of the brave, Had made the vessel heel A land-breeze shook the shrouds Down went the Royal George Toll for the brave! It was not in the battle; His sword was in its sheath, Weigh the vessel up, Her timbers yet are sound, Full charged with England's thunder, But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred William Cowper. XXVI TOM BOWLING HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare, His friends were many, and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, But mirth is turned to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life has doffed, For though his body's under hatches, His soul is gone aloft. Charles Dibdin. XXVII THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR JACK dances and sings, and is always content, Alert in his duty, he readily flies Where winds the tir'd vessel are flinging; Though sunk to the sea-gods, or toss'd to the skies, Still Jack is found working and singing. 'Long-side of an enemy, boldly and brave, He'll with broadside on broadside regale her; Yet he'll sigh from his soul o'er that enemy's grave: So noble's the mind of a sailor. Let cannons road loud, burst their sides let the bombs, Let the winds a dead hurricane rattle; The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes, And laughs at the storm and the battle. In a Fostering Power while Jack puts his trust, As Fortune comes, smiling he'll hail her; Resign'd still, and manly, since what must be must, And this is the mind of a sailor. Though careless and headlong, if danger should press, And rank'd 'mongst the free list of rovers, To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, Charles Dibdin. XXVIII TOM TOUGH My name, d'ye see, 's Tom Tough, I've seed a little sarvice, Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow; I've sailed with valiant Howe, I've sailed with noble Jarvis, And in gallant Duncan's fleet I've sung out 'Yo heave ho!' Yet more shall ye be knowing, I was coxon to Boscawen, And even with brave Hawke have I nobly faced the foe. Then put round the grog,— So we've that and our prog, We'll laugh in Care's face, and sing 'Yo heave ho!' When from my love to part I first weigh'd anchor, But I brought my sorrows up with a 'Yo heave ho!' And love and feel like other folks, Their duty to neglect must not come for to go; Like a true honest tar, And, in spite of tears and sighs, sang out 'Yo heave ho!' But the worst on't was that time when the little ones were sickly, And if they'd live or die the doctor did not know; The word was gov'd to weigh so sudden and so quickly, I thought my heart would break as I sung 'Yo heave ho!' For Poll's so like her mother, The boy, when he grows up will nobly fight the foe; But in Providence I trust, For you see what must be must, So my sighs I gave the winds and sung out Yo heave ho!' And now at last laid up in a decentish condition, For I've only lost an eye, and got a timber toe; But old ships must expect in time to be out of commission, Nor again the anchor weigh with 'Yo heave ho!' So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs, For my boy shall well revenge my wrongs, And my girl shall breed young sailors, nobly for to face the foe ; Then to Country and King, Fate no danger can bring, While the tars of Old England sing out 'Yo heave ho!' Charles Dibdin. XXIX THE BRITISH GRENADIERS SOME talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these, But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier! Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball, Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears, Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers! |