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Now to her birth the ship draws nigh;
We shorten sail—she feels the tide—
Stand clear the cable! is the cry;
The anchor’s gone—we safely ride.
The watch is set, and through the night
We hear the seamen, with delight,
Proclaim—All's well!
LASH’D TO THE HELM.
In storms, when 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 main,
The wind and rain;
