6
No longer could they stand our fire, it play’d so very hot;
They ran, and left in their redoubts two hundred on the spot.
The 42d and 79th they play'd their part like men;
Tho’ several times they were repuls'd, they charg'd the hill again;
We lost most of our Officers, our men in heaps were laid;
But still we scorn'd to quit the field, where'er a Frenchman staid.
The 88th the Irish boys, must not be here forgot;
Where'er they went they fought like men, oppos'd to shell and shot;
And every regiment play'd its part—I will not mention more;
Its known to all what Britons are, they have been try'd before.
But now the war is ended, and Boney's reign is o'er,
And we shall all be welcome upon our native shore,
In praise of Wellington and Hill, let none their glass refuse:
Likewise to every British Boy, that fought before Toulouse.
THE STORM.
Cease, rude Boreas, blust’ring railer,
list ye landsmen all to me,
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;
