Billeder på siden

my boy?

You come back from sea
And not know my John ?
I might as well have asked some landsman
Yonder down in the town.
There's not an ass in all the parish
But he knows my John.
How's my boy
And unless you let me know
I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,
Brass button or no, sailor,
Anchor and crown or no!
Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton
"Speak low, woman, speak low!"
And why should I speak low, sailor,
About my own boy,

John ?
If I was loud as I am proud,
I'd sing him over the town!
Why should I speak low, sailor?
"That good ship went down!'
How's my boy

my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor?
I never was aboard her.
Be she afloat, or be sbe aground,
Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound
Her owners can afford her!


John ?
“Every man on board went down,
Every man aboard ber.”
How's my boy
What care I for the men, sailor?
I'm not their mother
How's my boy – my boy?
Tell me of him and no other!
How's my boy


I say,

my boy?

my boy?


Hie upon Hielands,

And low upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell

Rade out on a day;
Saddled and bridled,

And gallant rade he:
Hame cam' his gude horse,

But hame cam' na he.
Out ran his auld mither,

Greeting' fu' sair;
Out ran his bonnie bride,

Reaving her hair.
Saddled and bridled

And booted rade he:
Hame cam' his gude horse,

But never cam' he.
“My meadow lies green,

And my corn is unshorn;
My barn is to bigg',

And my babie's unborn.”
Saddled and bridled

And booted rade he:
Toom“ hame cam' the saddle,

And never cam' he.


Poor autumn leaf! down floating
Upon the blustering gale;

Torn from thy bough,

Where goest now,

Withered, and shrunk, and pale? 1 Greeting, weeping.

? Reaving, rending. 3 Bigg, build.

Toom, empty.


"I go, thou sad inquirer,
As list the winds to blow,

Sear, sapless, lost,

And tempest-tost,
I go where all things go.

The rude winds bear me onward
As suiteth them, not me,

O'er dale, o'er hill,

Through good, through ill,
As destiny bears thee.

What though for me one summer,
And threescore for thy breath

I live my span,

Thou thine, poor man!
And then adown to death!

And thus we go together;
For lofty as thy lot,

And lowly mine,

My fate is thine,
To die and be forgot!"



Ye Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,

As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !

Our song and feast sball How

To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.


One night came on a hurricane,

The sea was mountains rolling,
When Barney Buntline turnd his quid,

And said to Billy Bowling:
A strong norwester's blowing, Bill;

Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help'em, how I pities all

Unhappy folks on shore now!

“Foolhardy chaps who live in towns,

What dangers they are all in, And now lie quaking in their beds,

For fear the roof should fall in :
Poor creatures, how they envies us,

And wishes (I've a notion),
For our good luck, in such a storm,

To be upon the ocean.
“And as for them who're out all day

On business from their houses , And late at night are coming home

To cheer their babes and spouses;
While you and I, Bill, on the deck

Are comfortably lying;
My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots

About their heads are flying!

“And often have we seamen heard

How men are kill'd and undone, By overturns of carriages,

And thieves, and fires, in London.
We know what risks all landsmen run,

From noblemen to tailors;
Then, Bill, let us thank Providence

That you and I are sailors."


« ForrigeFortsæt »