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) THE boy stood on the burning deck, THE SEA FIGHT. AS TOLD BY AN ANCIENT MARINER. -the fight! Well, messmates, well, To-night be sure a crushing weight Of dread, will'sit. At any rate, Though land-locked here, a watch I'll keep, - That Ninety-eight I sailed on board; Her streamed-out bunting, — red, white, blue! Masters, I cannot spin a yarn Twice laid with words of silken stuff. The rights o' this, though wild and rough We tacked, hove to; we filled, we wore ; Now rounded off, and now broached to; 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, Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain The blessed tear was on my check, 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 Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, And mak their shoon as black as slaes, There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, And spread the table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared 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, If Colin 's weel, and weel content, And will I hear him speak? 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; We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney, Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way, Ordered accidents so, that while taking the foe, His captors, right glad of the prize they now had, 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 Mon prisonnier 'scape; 'ave got in von scrape, 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; 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 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. |