19
THE STORM.
Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer,
List ye landsmen unto me,
Messmates, 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 haulyards stand!
Down top-gallants, quick, be hauling!
Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces;
Quick the top-sạil sheets lot 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,
Free from all but love's alarms.
Round us roars the tempest louder;
Think what fear our mind enthralls:
Harder yet, it yet blows harder;
Now again the boatswain calls.
The top-sail yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
