THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR.
WE loos’d from the downs, out of fair London town,
and then we had pleasant fine weather,
For two days or three we had a fine sea,
and our good ship we wrought with great pleasure.
There rose a great fog and our vessel did log,
you scarce could discern her mizen,
But to our surprise the storm did arise,
and the billows did foam thro’ the ocean.
As we passed by Wales, under close reef’d top sails,
and the point of land kept under,
The hail wind and sleet, with lightning did meet,
with tremendous loud claps of thunder
All things we made fast to stand the sad blast,
the pilot stood close by the helm,
Captain, pilot, and mate, on their stations did wait,
but still the proud waves they were swelling.
To the isle of man our course we did stand,
and the wind from the south east was blowing,
Then on the spring tide our vessel did ride,
and all the whole time it was snowing.
The gale did increase and then you may guess,
what was our most sad situation,
Death did appear when that we drew near
to the coast of the Irish nation.
The hail and frost on the mountains were tost
and the snow lay in Callaghanary,
And round Morne shore the billows did roar,
from Strangford to sweet Portaferry.
To the bar of Dundrum this vessel did come,
no hand at their post was neglecting,
