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A WHALER'S SONG.
Oh ! there's never a game
You landsmen can name With the sport that is known to a sailor ;
There's never a chase
On the land but gives place To the hunt that we know from a whaler.
The look-out aloft
Has looked oft and oft And never a cry has been calling;
Now it's out loud he shouts,
" There he spouts, there he spouts ; " And the mate, " Off, boats, off," sharp is bawling;
" Give wray there ; he shows ;
" Pull—pull—there he blows ;" The harpooner his tubbed rope's uncoiling;