I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the deep sea more and more,
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest-
And a mother she was and is to me,
For I was born on the open sea.

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
The whale it whistled, the porpoise roll'd,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild,
As welcom'd to life the ocean child.

I have lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a rover's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought or sigh'd for change;
And death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wide unbounded sea!

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the swelling breeze,

And white waves heaving high.

The white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free,—
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

yon

There's a tempest in hornéd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark, the music, mariners!

The wind is wakening loud.
The wind is wakening loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free;
The hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

I SING the British seaman's praise,
A theme renow'd in story;

It well deserves more polish'd lays,

O, 'tis your boast and glory:

When mad-brain'd war spreads death around,

By them you are protected;

But when in peace the nation's found,

These bulwarks are neglected.

Then, oh, protect the hardy tar,
Be mindful of his merit,

And when again you're plunged in war,
He'll shew his daring spirit.

When thickest darkness covers all

Far on the trackless ocean;

When lightnings dart, when thunders roll,
And all is wild commotion ;

When o'er the bark the white-topt waves
With boist'rous sweep are rolling,
Yet coolly still the whole he braves,
Untamed amidst the howling.

Then, oh, protect, &c.

When deep immersed in sulph'rous smoke,
He seeks a glowing pleasure,

He loads his gun, he cracks his joke,
Elated beyond measure;

Though fore and aft the blood-stain'd deck
Should lifeless trunks appear,

Or should the vessel float a wreck,

The sailor knows no fear.

Then, oh, proteet, &c.

When long becalm'd on southern brine,
When scorching beams assail him,
When all the canvass hangs supine,

And food and water fail him;
Then oft he dreams of Britain's shore,
Where plenty still is reigning :-
They call the watch-his rapture's o'er;
He sighs, but scorns complaining.

Then, oh, protect, &c.

Or burning on that noxious coast,
Where death so oft befriends him;
Or pinch'd by hoary Greenland frost,
True courage still attends him.
No time can this eradicate;

He glories in annoyance;

He fearless braves the storm of fate,
And bids grim death defiance.

Then, oh, protect, &c.

Why should the man who knows no fear
In peace be e'er neglected?
Behold him move along the pier,

Pale, meagre, and dejected;
Behold him begging for employ,
Behold him disregarded:

Then view the anguish of his eye,
And say, are tars regarded?

Then, oh, protect, &c.

To them your dearest rights you owe,
In peace, then, would you starve them?
What say ye, Britain's sons ?-O, no!
Protect them and preserve them.
Shield them from poverty and pain,
'Tis policy to do it;

Or when war shall come again,

O Britons, ye may rue it.

Then, oh, protect, &c.

In the appendix to a collection of the songs of Charles Dibdin, published under the patronage of the Lords of the Admiralty, the words and music of this song are erroneously said to be by Mr. Smart. Mr. Rushton, the author, who was a sailor and a philanthropist, and lost his eye-sight in the discharge of an act of duty, was father of the late Mr. E Rushton, the excellent stipendiary magistrate of Liverpool.

PATRIOTIC AND MILITARY SONGS. NGLISH literature possesses but two patriotic songs which can be considered pre-eminently national, the anthems of "God save the Queen" and "Rule Britannia." Neither of these, as a poetical composition, is of the highest order of merit;

and both of them owe their great popularity almost entirely to the beautiful music with which their indifferent poetry has been associated. As regards our patriotic songs in general, the English people have so long been accustomed to attribute to the naval service the chief glory and