The Sailor's Journal.
'TWAS post meridian half past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she linger'd on the shore,
With uplift hands, and broken hearted:
At seven, while taught'ning the fore-stay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy:
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bid a long adieu to Nancy.
Night came—and now eight bells had rung
While carless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,
With tempers labour cannot weary;
I, little to their mirth inclin'd,
While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy,
And my warm sighs increas'd the wind,
Look'd on the moon and thought of Nancy.
Next morn a storm came on at four,
At six the elements in motion,
Plung'd me, and three poor sailors more,
Headlong into the foaming ocean!
Poor wretches! they soon found their graves;
For me—it may be only fancy—
But love seem'd to forbid the waves
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy.
Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,
Scarce winds and waves had ceas'd to rattle,
Ere a bold enemy appear'd,