Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1851-12-25
THE SONG OF THE SHIP.
(AFrER uooD.)

he following was written by Colonel C. w. Grant
he Bombay Engineers during his passage to India, ii
Owen Glendower;
With Features pali and wan,
With cOloress forehead and lip,
A laly sat the quarterback,
Watching the heaving ship
Ptch-pitch-pitch-
As her bows in the waters dip,
In tremulous voice with a nervous twtch,-
She sung the song of the ship.
Roll roll-roli-
When the sun is shining bright;
And roll-roll-rol-
In the pale and clear moonlight.
1t is better, OH TO be slave,
Or to marry iurband Turk
Than to pass ones time on the biiny wave,
In this pitching and tossing work.
Roll-rol-roll-
Till the head goes swImmingly round;
And roll-ro--roll--
To the waters ceaseless sound.
Rope and rndder, and mast
Mast, end rndder, and rope,
With the sea all round, md the sky above,
There is nothing left to hope.
Roll-rol- roll
In the muggy rain and heat;
And roll-roll-roll-
When the pitch sticks to our feet
Whilst underneath the waves,
The sharks and dophins glide,
Till almost wish that were fish,
Swimming about by their side.
Oh! nut to walk on shore,
And strol through meadows green,
Far from the oceans roar
Where the waves are never seen.
OH bu, for one short hour,
To be able to stand upright
10 sit at ease and lie down to rest,
And not TO dread the night.
But this may not have,
Not even . moments rest;
lie with my heels above my head
And my knees stock into my chest,
In vain | try to sleep.
For the noise Of the wind and the sea
With lnrch of the ship roll on he deck
woful sight to
Ro-roll- roll
i'll the masts and timbers creak;
And roll-ro-roll-
Till the pigs and poultry squeak,
And oh! that horrid sound,
OF The eddy's ceaseless bell
That rings for meals when one suueamish feels
There are no words to tell.
Rmg-ring-ring-
Each hour throughout he day.
There is something or other going on,
In the eating or drinking way;
Stew, and mutton, aud fowl,
Fowl, and mutton and stew
They eat and drink. till they make one think
They have nothing else to do.
OH Captain, bold and trne
OH Captain, gallant and kind,
Oh! stop the ship for few short hunrs
To ease my weary mind
Pitch pich-pitch,-
Killing at once by a double DEATH
OF Sea-sickness, fear, and fright,
But why do talk of death!
1t has no telrors for me
Sea-sickness, Pm sure, is hard to bear
And lbs death T. ha or
It's death to be at sea,
And worse than feon's fare
Oh, that tossing about common should be-
And little motion rare.
Roll-ro-roll-'
Oh! who can count the time?
And roll-roll-roll--
As if TO rest were a crime
Mast, and rudder, and rome
Rope, aud rndder, and mast
If she would not roll, but were qniet and still.
am sure she Xould sail as fast,
Oh! if for one short hour,
The vessel wonld cease to roll.
The blessed relief from pain "a d grief,
Would cheer my wearied soul.
little sea sickness would do me good
And might my complexion clear;
But every day to be sick, say,
Is paying rather dear.
Mcconnell works so hard
When he treads it round in the mill;
As labor 10 dress-with my cabin hoer
On a slope with the steepest hill;
Mast and rudder, ahd rope,
Rore, and rudder, and mast,
am tossed about from side to side,
And fall fiat on my back at last.
With features palid and wan,
With c0lOrless cheek and lip,
lady sat on the quarterback,
Watching the heaving ship.
-pitch-pilch-
As her bows in the water dip,
In tremulous voice with nervous twich,
She sung, till she gave herself the stitch,
This doeful song of the ship.