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I said to our Poll-for, d'ye see, she would cry— When last we weighed anchor for sea, "What argufies snivelling and piping your eye?

Why, what a blamed fool you must be!

Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy, I should go, friend Poll,

You never will hear of me more.

What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft:
Perhaps I may laughing come back;

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and ends, Naught's a trouble from duty that springs;

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my will, 't is the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

-Charles Dibdin.

Ο

The Sailor's Consolation.

NE night came on a hurricane, The sea was mountains rolling, When Barney Buntline turned his quid, And said to Billy Bowling: "A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill: Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now!

"Foolhardy chaps who live in towns,
What danger they are all in,
And now lie quaking in their beds,
For fear the roof shall fall in:
Poor creatures! how they envies us,
And wishes, I've a notion,
For our good luck, in such a storm,
To be upon the ocean!

"And as for them who're out all day On business from their houses, And late at night are coming home,

To cheer their babes and spousesWhile you and I, Bill, on the deck

Are comfortably lying,

My eyes! what tiles and chimney pots Above their heads are flying!

"And very often we have heard How men are killed and undone By overturns of carriages-

By thieves and fires in London. We know what risks all landsmen run, From nobleinen to tailors;

Then, Bill, let us thank Providence

That you and I are sailors."

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The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;

The sea birds screamed as they wheeled round
And there was joyance in their sound!

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck
And fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,

It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eyes were on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock

Wont bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,

He scoured the seas for many a day;

And now grown rich with plundered store, He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand;

So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."
"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar?
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore.
Now where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell."

They hear no sound; the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along;
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock-
O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!

Sir Ralph, the Rover tore his hair;
He cursed himself in his despair.
The waves rush in on every side;
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But ever in his dying fear

One dreadful sound he seemed to hear-
A sound as if with the Inchcape bell
The Devil below was ringing his knell.
-Robert Southey.

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Loud and sudden there was heard,
All around them and below,

The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see! she stirs!

She starts-she moves-she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,
And, spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting joyous bound,
She leaps into the ocean's arms!

And lo! from the assembled crowd
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,
That to the ocean seemed to say,
"Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray,
Take her to thy protecting arms,
With all her youth and all her charms!"

How beautiful she is! How fair

She lies within those arms, that press
Her form with many a soft caress
Of tendernessand watchful care!
Sail forth into the sea, O ship!

Through wind and wave, right onward steer!
The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
Are not the signal of doubt or fear.

Sail forth into the sea of life,
O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
And safe from all adversity

Upon the bosom of that sea
Thy comings and thy goings be!
For gentleness and love and trust
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
And in the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives!

Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State!
Sail on,
O union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workman wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvil rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'T is of the wave and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee-are all with thee!

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

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And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrownBut all is not thine own!

To thee the love of woman hath gone down. Dark flows thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown!

Yet must thou hear a voice-" Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!Restore the dead, thou sea!"

-Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

Signs of Rain.

[Forty reasons for not accepting an invitation of a friend to make an excursion with him.]

HE hollow winds begin to blow;

TH

2 The clouds look black, the glass is low,

3 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,

4 And spiders from their cobwebs peep.

5 Last night the sun went pale to bed,
6 The moon in halos hid her head;
7 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
8 For see, a rainbow spans the sky!

9 The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 10 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. II Hark, how the chairs and table crack! 12 Old Betty's nerves are on the rack; 13 Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, 14 The distant hills are seeming nigh, 15 How restless are the snorting swine! 16 The busy flies disturb the kine,

17 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, 18 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings! 19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws;

21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise, 22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 23 The glow-worms, numerous and light, 24 Illumed the dewy dell last night; 25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 26 Hopping and crawling o'er the green;

27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, 28 And in the rapid eddy plays;

29 The fog has changed his yellow vest,

30 And in a russet coat is dressed 31 Though June, the air is cold and still, 32 The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill; 33 My dog so altered is his taste, 34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; 35 And see yon rooks, how odd their flight! 36 They imitate the gliding kite, 37 And seem precipitate to fall,

38 As if they felt the piercing ball.

39 'Twill surely rain; I see with sorrow 40 Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. —Edward Jenner.

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