Says he, "They've only taken him To the tender ship, you see.” "The tender ship," cried Sally Brown"What a hard ship that must be!

"Oh! would I were a mermaid now, For then I'd follow him;

But oh!- I'm not a fish woman,
And so I cannot swim.

"Alas! I was not born beneath
The virgin and the scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."

Now Ben had sailed to many a place That's underneath the world;

But in two years the ship came home, And all her sails were furled.

But when he called on Sally Brown, To see how she got on,

He found she'd got another Ben,

Whose Christian-name was John.

"O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow!"

Then reading on his 'bacco-box,
He heaved a heavy sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his ey

And then he tried to sing "All's Well!"
But could not, though he tried;
His head was turned- and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell;

They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton tolled the bell.

The Lady at Sea.

THOMAS HOOD.

CABLES entangling her;
Ship-spars for mangling her;
Ropes sure of strangling her;
Blocks over-dangling her;
Tiller to batter her;
Topmast to shatter her;
Tobacco to spatter her;
Boreas blustering;
Boatswain quite flustering;
Thunder-clouds mustering,
To blast her with sulphur-
If the deep don't ingulf her;
Sometimes fear's scrutiny
Pries out a mutiny,
Sniffs conflagration,
Or hints at starvation;
All the sea dangers,
Buccaneers, rangers,
Pirates, and Sallee-men,
Algerine galleymen,
Tornadoes and typhons,
And horrible syphons,
And submarine travels
Thro' roaring sea-navels;

And the cabin-built sloping;
The captain a-toping;
And the mate a blasphemer,
That names his Redeemer -
With inward uneasiness;

The cook known by greasiness;
The victuals beslubbered;
Her bed-in a cupboard;
Things of strange christening,
Snatched in her listening;
Blue lights and red lights,
And mention of dead lights;
And shrouds made a theme of-

Things horrid to dream of;
And buoys in the water;
To fear all exhort her;
Her friend no Leander-
Herself no sea gander;
And ne'er a cork jacket
On board of the packet;
The breeze still a-stiffening;
The trumpet quite deafening;
Thoughts of repentance,
And doomsday, and sentence;
Every thing sinister-
Not a church minister;
Pilot a blunderer;
Coral reefs under her,
Ready to sunder her:
Trunks tipsy-topsy;
The ship in a dropsy;
Waves oversurging her;
Sirens a-dirging her;
Sharks all expecting her;
Sword-fish dissecting her;
Crabs with their hand-vices
Punishing land vices;
Sea-dogs and unicorns,
Things with no puny horns;
Mermen carnivorous-
"Good Lord deliver us!"

THOMAS HOOD.

The White Squall.

ON deck, beneath the awning,
I dozing lay and yawning;
It was the gray of dawning,
Ere yet the sun arose;
And above the funnel's roaring,
And the fitful wind's deploring,

I heard the cabin snoring

With universal nose.

I could hear the passengers snorting-
I envied their disporting-
Vainly I was courting

The pleasure of a doze.

So I lay, and wondered why light
Came not, and watched the twilight,
And the glimmer of the skylight,

That shot across the deck;
And the binnacle pale and steady,
And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye,
And the sparks in fiery eddy

That whirled from the chimney neck. In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizzen, And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck.

Strange company we harbored;
We'd a hundred Jews to larboard,
Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered

Jews black, and brown, and gray.
With terror it would seize ye,
And make your souls uneasy,

To see those Rabbis greasy,

Who did nought but scratch and pray, Their dirty children puking— Their dirty saucepans cooking Their dirty fingers hooking

Their swarming fleas away.

To starboard Turks and Greeks wereWhiskered and brown their cheeks wereEnormous wide their breeks were

Their pipes did puff away;

Each on his mat allotted

In silence smoked and squatted,

Whilst round their children trotted

In pretty, pleasant play. He can't but smile who traces The smiles on those brown faces, And the pretty, prattling graces

Of those small heathens gay.

And so the hours kept tollingAnd through the ocean rolling Went the brave Iberia bowling, Before the break of day

When a squall, upon a sudden,
Came o'er the waters scudding;
And the clouds began to gather,
And the sea was lashed to lather,
And the lowering thunder grumbled,
And the lightning jumped and tumbled;
And the ship, and all the ocean,
Woke up in wild commotion.
Then the wind set up a howling,
And the poodle dog a yowling,
And the cocks began a crowing,
And the old cow raised a lowing,
As she heard the tempest blowing;
And fowls and geese did cackle;
And the cordage and the tackle
Began to shriek and crackle;

And the spray dashed o'er the funnels,
And down the deck in runnels;
And the rushing water soaks all,
From the seamen in the fo'ksal
To the stokers, whose black faces
Peer out of their bed-places;
And the captain he was bawling,
And the sailors pulling, hauling,
And the quarter-deck tarpauling
Was shivered in the squalling;
And the passengers awaken,
Most pitifully shaken;

And the steward jumps up, and hastens

For the necessary basins.

Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered,
And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered,
As the plunging waters met them,
And splashed and overset them,
And they called in their emergence
Upon countless saints and virgins;
And their marrow-bones are bended,
And they think the world is ended.

And the Turkish women for'ard
Were frightened and behorrored,
And, shrieking and bewildering,
The mothers clutched their children;
The men sang
"Allah! Illah!

Mashallah Bismillah!"

As the warring waters doused them,
And splashed them and soused them;
And they called upon the prophet,
And thought but little of it.
Then all the fleas in Jewry
Jumped up and bit like fury:
And the progeny of Jacob
Did on the main-deck wake up,

(I wot those greasy Rabbins
Would never pay for cabins ;)

And each man moaned and jabbered in His filthy Jewish gabardine,

In woe and lamentation,

And howling consternation.

And the splashing water drenches

Their dirty brats and wenches;

And they crawl from bales and benches,

In a hundred thousand stenches.

This was the white squall famous,
Which latterly o'ercame us,

And which all will remember,

On the 28th September;

When a Prussian captain of Lancers
(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers)
Came on the deck astonished,

By that wild squall admonished,
And wondering cried, "Potz tausend,
Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend?"
And looked at Captain Lewis,
Who calmly stood and blew his
Cigar in all the bustle,

And scorned the tempest's tussle;
And oft we've thought thereafter
How he beat the storm to laughter;
For well he knew his vessel

With that vain wind could wrestle;
And when a wreck we thought her,
And doomed ourselves to slaughter,

How gayly he fought her,

And through the hubbub brought her,

And as the tempest caught her,

469

Cried, "George, some brandy and water!"