The Black-Bird Songster/The Storm

THE STORM.

Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer,
List ye landsmen unto 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;
Quick the top-sạil sheets lot 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;
Let the foresheets go; don’t mind, boys.
Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit sail yard get;
Reef the mizen; see all clear;
Hand up! each preventer-brace set;
Man the foreyard; cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder’s roaring!
Peals on peals contending clash!
On our head fierce rain falls pouring!
In our eyes blue lightning flash!
One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky!
Diff'rent deaths at once surround us.
Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The foremast’s gone, cries ev’ry tongue out,
O’er the lee, twelve feet ’bove deck:
A leak beneath the chest-tree’s sprung out;
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick the lanyards cut to pieces;
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold;
Plumb the well, the leak increases,
Four feet water in the hold.

While o’er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there’s no retreating,
Alas! from hence there’s no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us,
Both chain-pumps are chok’d below,
Heav’n have mercy here upon us!
For only that cau save us now!

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys;
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pumps come every hand, boys;
She our mizen-mast is gone:
The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast,
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;
Up and rig a jury foremast;
She rights, she rights, boys! wear off shore.

Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind fortune spar'd our lives:
Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking,
To our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,
Close to th' lips a brimmer join;
Where's the tempest now? who fears it?
None! our danger's drown'd in wine.