19
THE STORM.
Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer,
List ye landsmen unto me, bus
Messmates, hear a brother sailor
Sing the dangers of the sea.
From bounding billows first in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean,
Where the seas contend with skies.
Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,
By top-sail sheets and haulyards stand!
Down top-gallants, quick, be hauling!
Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces;
Quick the top-sail sheets let go;
Luff, boys, luff, don't make wry faces;
Up your top-sails nimbly clew.
Now all you on down beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms,
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
Free from all but love's alarms.-
Round us roars the tempest louder;
Think what fear our mind enthralls:
Harder yet, it yet blows harder;
Now again the boatswain calls.
The top-sail yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
