SONG XXX. (When whistling winds are heard to blow)

When whistling winds are heard to blow. In tempests o'er the earth, The seamens oft' dashed to and fro, Yet cheerly takes his birth: And as he fearless mounts the shrouds, A while the vessel swings, Tho' skies are mantled over with clouds The gallant sailor sings: Tis pretty Poll and honest Jack, My girl and friend on shore, Will hall me at returning back, So let the billows roar.

When bending over the rocking yard. While seas in mountains rise. He takes a spell however hard, And danger e'er defies: The storm once o'er, the gallant tar Lets fancy freely roam, And tho' from many a friend afar, Thus sings of those at home. Tis pretty Poll, &c.

On burning coast, or frozen seas, Alike in each extreme, The gallant sailor's e'er at ease, And floats with fortune's stream To love and friendship ever true, He sleers life's course along, And wheresoever sailing to, Fond hope elates his song. Tis pretty Poll, &c.