Bonny Mally Stewart (1823)/The sailor's journal

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THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL

'TWAS post meridian half past four,
⁠by signal I from Nancy parted.
At six she linger'd on the shore,
⁠with uplift hands, and broken hearted;
At seven, while taunting the fore-stay,
⁠I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy.
At eight we all got under weigh,
⁠and bid a long adieu to Nancy.

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
⁠where careless sailors ever cheerly,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,
⁠with tempers, labour cannot weary;
I little to their mirth inclin'd
⁠while tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy,
And my warm sighs increas'd the wind,
⁠look’'d on the moon & thought on Nancy.

And now arriv'd that jovial night,
⁠when ev'ry true-bred tar carouses,
When o'er the grog all hands delight,
⁠to toss their sweethearts and their spouses.
Round went the cup, the jest, the glee.
⁠while tender wishes fill'd each fancy,
And when in turn it came to me,
⁠I heav'd a sigh and toasted Nancy.

Next morn a storm came on at four,
⁠at six the elements in motion,
Plung'd me, and three poor tailors more,
⁠headlong within the foaming ocean;
Poor wretches they soon found their graves,
⁠for me it may be only fancy.
But Love seem'd to forbid the waves,
⁠to snatch me from the arms of Nancy.

Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,
⁠scarce winds and waves had ceas'd to rattle,
When a bold enemy appear'd,
⁠and dauntless we prepar'd for battle;
And now, while some lov'd friend or wife,
⁠like light'ning rush'd on every fancy,
To Providence I trusted life,
⁠put up a prayer and thought on Nancy.

At last 'twas in the month of May,
⁠the crew, it being lovely weather,
At three A M discover'd day,
⁠and England's chalky cliffs together.
At seven up channel how we bore,
⁠while hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy,
At twelve I gaily jump d ashore,
⁠and to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy.