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THE SAILOR’S JOURNAL.
’Twas post meridian, half-past four
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she lingered on the shore,
With uplift hands and broken-hearted.
At seven while taught’ning the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else ’twas fancy:
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bid a long adieu to Nancy.
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she lingered on the shore,
With uplift hands and broken-hearted.
At seven while taught’ning the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else ’twas fancy:
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bid a long adieu to Nancy.
Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
In the mid watch so joval sung,
With tempers labour cannot weary.
I, little to their mirth inclined,
While tender thoughts rush’d on my fancy
And my warm sighs encreased the wind,
Lock’d on the moon, and thought on Nancy.
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
In the mid watch so joval sung,
With tempers labour cannot weary.
I, little to their mirth inclined,
While tender thoughts rush’d on my fancy
And my warm sighs encreased the wind,
Lock’d on the moon, and thought on Nancy.
And now arrived that joval night,
When every true-bred tar carouses,
When o'er the grog all hands delight
To toast their sweathearts and their spouses:
When every true-bred tar carouses,
When o'er the grog all hands delight
To toast their sweathearts and their spouses:
