Bonaparte's farewell/Lash'd to the helm

LASH’D TO THE HELM.

In storms whien clouds obscure the sky,
And thunders roll, and lightnings fly,
In midst of all these dire alarms,
I think, my Sally, on thy charms.
The troubled main,
The wind and rain,
My ardent passion prove;
Lash’d to the helm.
Should seas o’erwhelm,
I’d think on thee, my love.

When rocks appear on every side.
And art is vain the ship to guide;
In varied shapes when death appears,
The thought of thee my bosom cheers:
The troubled n a n,
The wind and rain,
My ardent passion prove;
Lash’d to the helm,
Should seas o’erwhelm,
I’d think on thee my love.

But should the gracious pow’rs be kind.
Dispel the gloom and still the wind,
And waft me to tby arms once more,
Safe to my long-lost native shore,
No more the main
I’d tempft again,
But tender joys improve;
I then with thee
Should happy be
And think on nougnt but love.