The Seaman

The man whose life is on the seas, No harping cares molest, His hopes still freshen with the breeze, His thoughts in Nancy blest;

The hardest fortune he can bear, Since love his labour charms, 'Tis Nancy's image sooths his care, Tho' absent from her arms.

His happy bosom knows no ill, He sings his chearful song, While, round, the flip his messmates fill, Nor think the mid-watch long.

The helm's-man now he ready stands, With love's sweet hope imprest; The wheel still govern'd by his hands, The compass in his breast.