A Library of Poetry and Song: Being Choice Selections from the Best Poets

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son of the Ad- An, yes,

miral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile)
after the ship had taken fire and a 1 the guns had been abandoned,
and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had
reached the powder.]

THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

THE SEA FIGHT.

AS TOLD BY AN ANCIENT MARINER.

-the fight! Well, messmates, well,
I served on board that Ninety-eight;
Yet what I saw I loathe to tell.

To-night be sure a crushing weight
Upon my sleeping breast, a hell

Of dread, will'sit. At any rate,

Though land-locked here, a watch I'll keep, -
Grog cheers us still. Who cares for sleep?

That Ninety-eight I sailed on board;
Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ;
Right aft the rising tempest roared;
A noble first-rate hove in view;
And soon high in the gale there soared

Her streamed-out bunting, — red, white, blue!
We cleared for fight, and landward bore,
To get between the chase and shore.

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn

Twice laid with words of silken stuff.
A fact's a fact; and ye may larn

The rights o' this, though wild and rough
My words may loom. T is your consarn,
Not mine, to understand. Enough ;-
We neared the Frenchman where he lay,
And as we neared, he blazed away.

We tacked, hove to; we filled, we wore ;
Did all that seamanship could do
To rake him aft, or by the fore,

Now rounded off, and now broached to;
And now our starboard broadside bore,

And showers of iron through and through His vast hull hissed; our larboard then Swept from his threefold decks his men.

As we, like a huge serpent, toiled,

And wound about, through that wild sea,
The Frenchman cach manœuvre foiled,
'Vantage to neither there could be.
Whilst thus the waves between us boiled,
We both resolved right manfully
To fight it side by side; began
Then the fierce strife of man to man.

Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain
Rings out her wild, delirious scream!
Redoubling thunders shake the main ;
Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam.

The blessed tear was on my check,
She smiled with that old smile I kn
"Turn to me, mother, turn and speak
Was on my quivering lips, — when
All vanished, and a dark, red streak

Glared wild and vivid from the foe, That flashed upon the blood-stained w For fore and aft the flames had caught

She struck and hailed us. On us fast All burning, helplessly, she came, Near, and more near; and not a mast Had we to help us from that flame. 'T was then the bravest stood aghast,

"T was then the wicked, on the nam (With danger and with guilt appalled) Of God, too long neglected, called.

The eddying flames with ravening tong Now on our ship's dark bulwarks da We almost touched, - when ocean run Down to its depths with one loud cr In heaven's top vault one instant hung

And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's satin gown;

For I maun tell the baillie's wife
That Colin 's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockin's pearly blue;
It 's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he 's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he 's been long awa'.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair;

Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air;

His very foot has music in 't

As he comes up the stair, And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

If Colin 's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave:
And gin I live to keep him sae
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There 's nac luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman 's awa'.

W. J. MICKLE.

SIR SIDNEY SMITH.

GENTLEFOLKS, in my time, I've made many a rhyme,

But the song I now trouble you with,

Lays some claim to applause, and you'll grant it, because

The subject 's Sir Sidney Smith, it is;
The subject's Sir Sidney Smith.

We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney,
He'd fight every foe he could meet;
Give him one ship for two, and without more ado,
He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he would,
He'd engage if he met a whole fleet.

Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way,
Till fortune, that changeable elf,

Ordered accidents so, that while taking the foe,
Sir Sidney got taken himself, he did,
Sir Sidney got taken himself.

His captors, right glad of the prize they now had,
Rejected each offer we bid,

And swore he should stay locked up till doomsday; But he swore he 'd be d- d if he did, he did, But he swore he'd be hanged if he did.

So Sir Sid got away, and his jailer next day
Cried, "Sacre, diable, morbleu,

Mon prisonnier 'scape; 'ave got in von scrape,
And I fear I must run away too, I must,

I fear I must run away too!"

If Sir Sidney was wrong, why then blackball my song,

E'en his foes he would scorn to deceive;
His escape was but just, and confess it you must,
For it only was taking French leave, you know,
It only was taking French leave.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.

I LOVE contemplating - apart From all his homicidal glory

The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's glory!

'T was when his banners at Boulogne
Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

They suffered him- I know not how Unprisoned on the shore to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home.

His eye, methinks! pursued the flight Of birds to Britain half-way over; With envy they could reach the white Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,

Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought

To England nearer.

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