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An abbey-tow'r, an harbour-fort,
Or beacon, to the vessel true:
While oft the lead the seaman flung,
And to the Pilot cheer'ly sung,
"By the mark SEVEN!"
And, as the much-lov'd shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof,
Where dwelt a friend, or partner dear,
Of faith and love a matchless proof!
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful Pilot sung,
"Quarter less FIVE!"
Now to her birth the ship draws nigh,
With slacken'd sail she feels the tide;
Stand clear the cable" is the cry,
The anchor's gone, we safely ride.
The watch is set, and through the night,
We hear the seamen with delight,
Proclaim—" ALL'S WELL!"
Black-ey'd Susan.
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When Black-ey'd Susan came on board,
"Oh! where shall I my true love find?
