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OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Ere the twilight bat was flitting, In the sunset, at her knitting, Sang a lonely maiden, sitting
Underneath her threshold tree; And as daylight died before us, And the vesper star shone o'er us, Fitful rose her tender chorus,
'•Jamie's on the stormy sea."
Curfew bells, remotely ringing, Mingled with that sweet voice singing, And the last red ray seemed clinging
Linsrerinirlv to tower and tree. Nearer as I came, and nearer, Finer rose the notes, and clearer; Oh ! 'twas charming thus to hear her, —
"Jamie's on the stormy sea."
Blow, thou west wind, blandly hover, Round the bark that bears my lover; Blow, and waft him softly over
To his own dear home and me ; For when night winds rend the willow, Sleep forsakes my lonely pillow, Thinking of the raging billow,—
Jamie's on the stormy sea."
How could I but list, but linger, To the song, and near the singer, Sweetly wooing heaven to bring her
Jamie from the stormy sea. And while yet her lips did name me, Forth I sprang, my heart o'ercame me, " Grieve no more, love, I am Jamie,
Home returned to love and thee."
THE LASS THAT LOVES A SAILOR.
This song, of which both words and music were his, was the last that Charles Dibdin wrote. He died in 1814, and his son, Thomas Dibdin, wrote the following stanzas upon his monument, at Greenwich:
Stop I shipmate, stop! He can't be dead,
His lay yet lives to memory dear: His spirit, merely shot ahead,
Will yet command Jack's smile and tear! Still in my ear the songs resound,
That stemmed rebellion at the Nore! Avast! each hope of mirth's aground,
Should Charley be indeed no more 1
The evening watch, the sounding lead,
Will sadly miss old Charley's line. " Saturday Night" may go to bed,— His sun is set, no more to shine! "Sweethearts and Wives," though we may sing,
And toast, at sea, the girls on shore; Yet now, 'tis quite another thing,
Since Charley spins the yarn no more 1
"Jack Rattlin's" story now who'll tell?
Or chronicle each boatswain brave? The sailor's kind historian fell
With him who sung the " Soldier's Grave!"
" Poor Jack I" " Tom Bowling!" but belay I Starboard and larboard, aft and fore,
Each from his brow may swab the spray, Since tuneful Charley u no more!
The capstan, compass, and the log
Will oft his Muse to memory bring; And when all hands wheel round the grog,
They'll drink and blubber as they sing. For grog was often Charley's theme,
A double spirit then it bore; It sometimes seems to me a dream,
That such a spirit is no more.
It smoothed the tempest, cheered the calm,
Made each a hero at his gun; It even proved for foes a balm,
Soon as the angry fight was done. Then, shipmate, check that rising sigh
He's only gone ahead before; For even foremast men must die,
As well as Charley, now no more!