The Storm

Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer, List ye landsmen all to me; Mess-mates, hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea. From bounding billows first in motion; When the distant whirlwinds rise, To the tempest troubled Ocean, Where the Seas contend with skies.

Hark the Boatswain hoarsely bawling, By top-sail sheets and haul-yards stand, Down top-gallants, down be hauling,— Down your stay-sails, band, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces,— Now the top—sail sheets let go, Luff, boys luff, don't make wry faces,— Up your top-sails nimbly clew.

Now all you on down beds sporting, Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms; Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting, Safe from all but love's alarms. Around us roars the tempest louder, Think what fears our minds enthrall; Harder yet, it yet blows harder, Now again the Boatswain's call.

The top-sail yards point to the wind boys, See all clear to reef each course— Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind boys, Tho' the weather should be worse. Fore and aft the spritsail yard get, Reef the mizen, see all clear, Hands up, each preventer-brace set, Man the fore-yard, cheer lads, cheer.

Now the dreadful thunder roaring, Peal on peal contending clash, On our head fierce rain falls pouring, In our eyes blue lightnings flash. One wide water all around us, All above us one black sky; Different deaths at once surround us, Hark! what means that dreadful cry.

The foremast's gone! crys every tongue out, O'er the lee, twelve feet above deck; A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out, Call all hands to clear the wreck. Quick, the lanyards cut to pieces; Come my hearts be stout and bold, Plumb the well—the leak increases, Four feet water's in the hold!

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating We for wives or children mourn; Alass! from hence there is no retreating, Alass! to them there's no return. Still the leak is gaining on us, Both chain-pumps are choak'd below; Heaven have mercy here upon us! For only that can save us now.

O'er the lee beam is the land boys, Let the the guns o'er beard be thrown, To the pump come every hand boys, See our mizen-mast is gone. The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast, We've lighten'd her a foot or more; Up and rig a jury fore-mast, She rights, she rights, boys we'er off shore.

Now once more on joys we'ere thinking, Since kind fortune sav'd our lives; Come the cann, boys let's be drinking, To our Sweet-hearts and our wives. Fill it up, about ship wheel it, Close to the lips a brimmer join; Where's the tempest, now who feels it, None—all our danger's drown'd in wine.