Young Biechan, and Susie Pye/The poor sailor boy

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The Poor Sailor Boy

'MIDST rocks and quicksands have we steer'd,
rude storms and torrents brav'd, Sir,
The battle's rage nor death we fear'd
we conquer'd, then we sav'd, Sir,
In distant climes Old England's foe
did every where annoy.
Then, mess-mate like, some pity shew,
to a poor Sailor boy.

When midnight tempest roar'd around,
and seas roll'd o'er the deck, Sir,
When ninety-two brave souls were drown'd
while nine escap'd the wreck, Sir,
Full fifteen days in open boat,
forlorn, and lost to joy
O'er ocean's bosom doom'd to float,
was the poor Sailor boy.

First for our king and laws we fight,
next for our trade and beauty,
These to protect is our delight,
our pride, our boast, and duty :
Then now relieve a hapless tar,
or pity's claim destroy,
Thu wreck'd be you a friendly star,
to a poor Sailor boy.


This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.