Young Biechan, and Susie Pye/The poor sailor boy

The Poor Sailor Boy

'MIDST rocks and quicksands have we steer'd,
⁠rude storms and torrents brav'd, Sir,
The battle's rage nor death we fear'd
⁠we conquer'd, then we sav'd, Sir,
In distant climes Old England's foe
⁠did every where annoy.
Then, mess-mate like, some pity shew,
⁠to a poor Sailor boy.

When midnight tempest roar'd around,
⁠and seas roll'd o'er the deck, Sir,
When ninety-two brave souls were drown'd
⁠while nine escap'd the wreck, Sir,
Full fifteen days in open boat,
⁠forlorn, and lost to joy
O'er ocean's bosom doom'd to float,
⁠was the poor Sailor boy.

First for our king and laws we fight,
⁠next for our trade and beauty,
These to protect is our delight,
⁠our pride, our boast, and duty :
Then now relieve a hapless tar,
⁠or pity's claim destroy,
Thu wreck'd be you a friendly star,
⁠to a poor Sailor boy.

FINIS