Tartan plaid/The Heaving of the Lead
The Heaving of the Lead.
For England, when, with fav'ring gale,
Our gallant ship up channel steer'd—
And, scudding under easy sail,
The high blue western land appear'd;
To heave the lead the seamen sprung,
And to the Pilot cheerly sung,
'By the deep—Nine!'
And, bearing up, to gain the port,
Some well-known object kept in view;
An Abbey-tow'r, a Harbour-fort,
Or Beacon, to the vessel true;
While oft the lead the seamen flung,
And to the Pilot cheerly sung,
'By the mark—Seven!'
And, as the much lov'd shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof,
Where dwelt a friend, or partner dear,
Of faith and love a matchless proof!
The lead once more ⟨the⟩ seamen flung,
And to the watchful Pilot sung,
'Quarter less—Five!'
Now to her birth the ship draws nigh;
We take in sail—she feels the tide;
'Stand clear the cable,' is the cry—
The auchor's gone—we safely ride.
The watch is set; and thro' the night,
We hear the seamen, with delight,
Proclaim—'All's well!'