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Hunting Songs

by R. E. Egerton-Warburton

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Song, written for and sung by I. H. SMITH BARRY, ESQ.
  
  
  
  
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64

Song, written for and sung by I. H. SMITH BARRY, ESQ.

[_]

OWNER OF THE “COLUMBINE” YACHT, WHEN PRESIDENT OF THE TARPORLEY HUNT MEETING, 1845.

Now riding safe at anchor, idly floats the “Columbine,”
And the perils of the ocean in November I resign;
With other messmates round me, merry comrades every one,
To-night I take command, boys, of the gallant ship, the “Swan.”
Chorus.
Then up, boys! up for action, with a hearty three times three,
What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley?
'Tis true, though strange, this gallant ship in water cannot swim,
A sea of rosy wine, boys, is the sea she loves to skim;
The billows of that red sea are in bumpers toss'd about,
Our spirits rising higher as the tide is running out!
Chorus.

65

Still swinging at her moorings, with a cable round her neck,
Though long as summer lasteth all deserted is her deck,
She scuds before the breezes of November fast and free,
O! ne'er may she be stranded in the straits of Tarporley.
Chorus.
By adverse gale or hurricane her sails are never rent,
Her canvas swells with laughter, and her freight is merriment;
The lightning on her deck, boys, is the lightning flash of wit,
Loud cheers in thunder rolling till her very timbers split!
Chorus.
We need not Archimedes with his screw on board the Swan,
The screw that draws the cork, boys, is the screw that drives us on,
And should we be becalm'd, boys, while giving chase to care,

66

When the brimming bowl is heated we have steam in plenty there.
Chorus.
No rocks have we to split on, no foes have we to fight,
No dangers to alarm us, while we keep the reckoning right;
We fling the gold about, boys, though we never heave the lead,
And long as we can raise the wind our course is straight a-head.
Chorus.
The index of our compass is the bottle that we trowl,
To the chair again revolving like the needle to the pole;
The motto on our glasses is to us a fixed star,
We know while we can see it, boys, exactly where we are.
Chorus.
To their sweethearts let our bachelors a sparkling bumper fill,
To their wives let those who have 'em fill a fuller bumper still;

67

O! never while we've health, boys, may we quit this gallant ship,
But every year, together here, enjoy this pleasure trip.
Chorus.
Behind me stands my ancestor, Sir Peter stands before,
Two pilots who have weather'd many a stormy night of yore;
So may our sons and grandsons, when we are dead and gone,
Spend many a merry night, boys, in the cabin of the Swan.
Chorus.
Then up, boys! up for action, with a hearty three times three,
What tars are half so jolly as the tars of Tarporley?
1845.