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The Song Book |
115 |
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At length the wish'd for morrow Breaks through the hazy sky,
Absorb'd in silent sorrow Each heaves a bitter sigh.
The dismal wreck to view, Strikes horror to the crew—
As she lay, on that day,
In the Bay of Biscay, O !
Her yielding timbers sever,
Her pitchy seams are rent; When heav'n, all bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercies sent. A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers, Now we sail, with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay, O !
Tune by Davy. LXXXIX
MY MAN THOMAS |
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I 2 |
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