Dibdin's Museum, &c, SONG

The threat'ning storm, the ruffled main, Forebodes a sad tempestuous night, The black'ning cloud, the misty rain, Hides ev'ry pleasing gleam of light: Still the sailor minds his track, Lash'd to the helm while thunders crack; Hope is his only anchor there, And his brave heart's unknown to fear.

Perhaps sweet Nancy on the beach, Whose streaming eyes and uplift hand, With pray'rs the winds and waves would teach, To set her Thomas safe on land: Yet still the sailor minds his track, Lash'd to the helm while thunders crack: Hope was his only anchor there, Which sav'd him for his Nancy dear.

At length the beams of morning shine, The winds are still, the tempest o'er: And by the aid of pow'r divine, The ship rides safely near the shore: Then quick the flowing can goes round, Each toil's forgot and joys abound; Hope was his only anchor there, And sav'd him for his Nancy dear.