THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

1

"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 taughtening the fore-stay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy;
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bade a long adieu to Nancy!

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,

With tempers labour cannot weary.

I, little to their mirth inclined,

While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy,

And my warm sighs increased the wind,
Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy!

And now arrived that jovial night,

spouses.

When every true-bred tar carouses;
When, o'er the grog, all hands delight
To toast their sweethearts and their
Round went the can, the jest, the glee,
While tender wishes fill'd each fancy;
And when, in turn, it came to me,

I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy!

Next morn a storm came on at four,-
At six, the elements in motion
Plunged me and three poor sailors more
Headlong within the foaming ocean.
Poor wretches! they soon found their
For me it may be only fancy,-
But Love seem'd to forbid the waves

graves;

THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,

Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle,

When a bold enemy appear'd,

And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. And now, while some loved friend or wife Like lightning rush'd on every fancy, To Providence I trusted life,

Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy!

At last, 'twas in the month of May,-
The crew, it being lovely weather,

At three A.M. discover'd day,

And England's chalky cliffs together.

At seven, up channel how we bore,

While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy;

At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,

And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy!

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter:

"And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief-I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady: