Fair Kate of Portsmouth lov'd a tar

Fair Kate of Portsmouth lov'd a tar, Ben Surf, as kind a soul As ever brav'd the hottest war, Or slung the flowing bowl, Yet, oft' he'd heave a figh, since fate Had borne him far from lovely Kate.

For Ben in vain had often strove, (Would parents but agree) To wed fair Kate, his only love, 'Ere that he went to sea; But, ah! in vain, fond hope was o'er, He sigh'd, then left his native shore.

One night as the mid-watch he kept, A loose to love he gave, For while his ship mates careless slept, Plung'd in a wat'ry grave— "The conflict's o'er, sweet Kate," he cri'd, Then sunk in peace, alas! and dy'd.

Thus hope is like the summer gale, That's transient as the wind, Which reefs too soon soft pleasures' sail, 'Ere the wish'd port we find: The tidings to fair Kate was brought, Whose bosom was with anguish fraught.

"And is my love no more?" she cri'd, 'Then peace adieu, farewell, This heart to his was e'er alli'd, And still it shall be true— I feel my spirit wing its flight—" She spoke, and sunk in endless night.