Tradesman's farewell/The Storm

THE STORM.

Cease, rude Boreas, blust’ring railer,
⁠list ye landsmen all to 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-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,
⁠free from all but love's alarms,—
Round us roars the tempest louder;
⁠think what fear our mind enthrals:
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;
Let the foresheets go; don’t mind, boys,
⁠though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit sail yard get;
⁠reef the mizen; see all clear:
Hand up, each preven er-brace set;
⁠man the fore-yard; cheer lads, cheer.

Now the dreadful thunder’s roaring,
⁠peals on peals contending clash,
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
⁠in our eyes blue light’nings flash.
One wide water all around us,
⁠all above us one black sky,
Diff’rent deaths at once surround us,
⁠hark, what means that dreadful cry?

The foremast’s gone, cries ev’ry tongue out,
⁠o’er the lee, twelve feet ’bove 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 in the hold.

While o’er the ship wild waves are beating,
⁠we for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there’s no retreating;
⁠alas! from hence there’s no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us,
⁠both chain-pumps are chok’d below,
Heav'n have mercy now upon us,
⁠for only that can save us now.

O’er the lee-beam is the land, boys;
⁠let the guns o’er board 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 foremast;
⁠she rights, she rights, boys, wcar off shore.

Now once more on joys we're thinking;
⁠since kind fortune, spar’d our lives
Come, the can, boys, let’s be drinking
⁠to our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill it up, about ship wheel it;
⁠close to th’ lips a brimmer join
Where’s the tempest now? who feels it?
⁠none, our danger’s drown’d in wine.

FINIS.