The canvass, in the gale to swell; The ocean is no more my world; Yet there Life's earliest years I fearless past, There oft, to cheer the midnight hour, Of love on shore, or storms at sea,- Dear were the sounds, tho' rude and hoarse, Or keep the sails well fill'd together; While on the look-out far my eyes were cast, HOARE. THE FAITH ON HER LIP. CORRI, LONDON, Sung by Mr Brabam. BRAHAM. THE shadows of eve 'gan to steal o'er the earth; To Eliza my heart I confess'd: Love sanction'd the moment to Hope that gave birth; On her lip a soft kiss I impress'd. I saw her warm cheek like Heaven's canopy glow, She loves me ;-oh! heav'n, let me never forego This bosom, tho' fervid with youth and with health, In all else shall persuasion controul: Bid me fly from the charm of ambition or wealth, But Eliza, dear maid! till in earth I'm laid low, While she loves me, by heav'n! I will never forego ANON. THE ARETHUSA. PRESTON, LONDON. SHIELD Sung by Mr Incledon. COME, all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in Honour's mould, Huzza to the Arethusa ! She is a frigate tight and brave, Her men are staunch To their fav'rite launch; And when the foe shall meet our fire, 'Twas with the spring fleet she went out, The English Channel to cruize about; When four French sail, in show so stout, Bore down on the Arethusa! The fam'd Belle-Poole straight a-head did lie; Not a sheet or a tack, Or a brace, did she slack: Tho' the Frenchmen laugh'd, and thought it stuff; On deck five hundred men did dance, Our captain hail'd the Frenchmen, ho! To our admiral's lee! No, no, says the Frenchmen, that can't be! The fight was off the Frenchmen's land; And now we've driv'n the foe ashore, To his fav'rite lass! A health to our captain and officers true, ANON. KATE KEARNEY. -GOULDING, LONDON. Sung by Mr Incledon. OH, did you not hear of Kate Kearney? -DAVY From the glance of her eye, shun danger, and fly, For that eye is so modestly beaming, Oh, should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney, Tho' she looks so bewitchingly simple, THE SHIP ON FIRE. "ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON. Sung by Mr Incledon. MAZZINGHI. FROM Plymouth, in the Vulcan, we set sail; We left Old England with a fine brisk gale, Now mark the change-'Twas midnight, and the blast In fury drove us o'er the foaming flood; With blackest horror was the sky o'ercast, When, lo! the cry was heard that thrill'd our blood. To work, all hands, to work; she's fir'd below! For, sec, the curling flames mount to the sky! Heave o'er the boat, the gallant captain cry'd; Let's save at least some sturdy hearts and true! The boat was hove, but danger all defy'd; "Good captain, we'll not budge, but die with you!" Then down we knelt, and pray'd to Heav'n for grace "Have mercy on us, since all hope is past!" Each rose, and gave his fellow one embrace, Then, plunging 'mid the billows, sought his last! To splinters was the vessel instant blown; The crash still added to the tempest's roar: I saw my messmates struggling, heard them groan,While, clinging to a plank, I gain'd the shore. |