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229

SAILOR'S SONG.

I've thought of it over and over,
The mistress best suiting a tar
Is his country; and no truer lover
You'll find, if near sailing or far.
For her, braving peril's worst waters,
With life, O, how freely he 'll part;
And then, too, her sweet smiling daughters,
Why, somehow they all have his heart.
The laurel he gains for her glory;
What triumph such honour bestows!
But wouldn't it wither in story
If 'twin'd not with beauty's sweet rose?
For what can such grace and such splendour
As dear British beauty impart?
Each tar, sink or swim, its defender;
For, somehow, they all have his heart.