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University of Virginia Library

Sea Songs

By W. C. Bennett

Bennett, W. C. (1820-1895)

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WITH A ONE, TWO, THREE.

WHAT LUBBERS THEY'RE ON SHORE.

IT'S IN US, THAT'S ALL.

GIVE HER A GALE AND SHE'LL GO.

STRIKE AND STRIKE HARD.

MY HEART IS NORTH WITH YOU.

THERE'S NOTHING LIKE A SMOKE.

FROM CAPE HORN.

THE SAILOR'S DREAM.

ARE WE CHANGED FROM WHAT WE WERE?

TAKE ME, LASS, FOR LIFE.

SO I GO, MY LADS, FOR PLUCK.

A KISS TO TAKE TO SEA.

LOVE PEACE, BUT FOR WAR BE READY.

THE LETTER EDGED WITH BLACK.

FROM THE SOUTH SEAS.

OUR FINE OLD COMMODORE.

READY—ALWAYS READY.

THE APPARITION.

WALKING THE WATCH.

SIR EDWARD PELLEW AT PLYMOUTH.

A WHALER'S SONG.

IT'S ABSENCE MAKES US FONDEST.

THE LAND, BOYS, THE LAND.

TO THE MARQUESAS ISLANDS.

WERE I THAT GULL.

WHEN FIRST I WENT A WHALING.

THE OLD STUFF IS HERE IN US STILL.

'TIS TRUE THAT OUR LOT IS BUT ROUGH.

SAYS NANCY TO ME WHEN I PARTED.

OH, I CARE NOT FOR THE NORTH WIND.

THEIR HEARTS ARE WITH US, BOYS.

WE WOULD NOT THINK OF YOU IN TEARS.

TIGHT AND SAUCY.

HOW WE SAVED THEM.

MARRYAT IN “THE IMPÉRIEUSE.”

TO THE NORTH SEA.

THE DEAR ONES WE'VE LEFT AT HOME.

YOU LANDSMEN MAY HAVE PLENTY.

SHE'S SWEETER TO ME THAN THE BEST OF THEM ALL.

HE'S ALL RIGHT IN WHOSE POCKET THERE'S ALWAYS SOME CHINK.

WHY DON'T THEY COME TO SEA?

MAY ALL GO WITH THE TIDE.

TO THE PACIFIC.

HERE'S TO VAN TROMP AND DE RUYTER

THE TOGS, THEY DO NOT MAKE THE SAILOR.

THE MOON DROVE THROUGH THE SCUD ON HIGH.

NAY, NEVER CRY, LASS.

O WINDS, TELL ME WHERE DOES MY SAILOR SAIL THE SEA.

THAT'S OUR WAY.

THAT'S OUR WAY.

THE WIFE'S WATCH.

THE WINDS, INCONSTANT EVER.

THE BURSTING OF THE BOOM.

A SONG FROM THE SEA-PORTS.

MY OLD FISHING-BOAT.

'TIS THE FREE THAT RULE THE SEA.

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137

'TIS THE FREE THAT RULE THE SEA.

Shall we be as Tyre and Carthage? as Venice shall we be?
Shall our fleets, like those De Ruyter led, no longer rule the sea?
That shall be.
When they who in our England breathe no longer are the free,
Then 'twill be.

But, while freemen's breath we're breathing, from our grasp shall not be torn
The rule we hold, the power to which our fathers' sons are born,
And the waves,
When, and only when a tyrant's sway we know, our reign shall scorn,
We but slaves.

138

Our might's the might of freedom; with her strength we must be strong;
Woe to England and her sea-rule if she do to freedom wrong!
Woe—thrice woe,
If no more the tameless life that has been her life so long,
She shall know!

Shall our sons draw slavish breath? shall they live, self-ruled, no more?
Shall our sails not whiten every sea—our screws not seek each shore?
No; more free,
Yet more free and mightier yet, on all seas for evermore
We shall be.