William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Loss of the HornetY
Ye mothers and widows too,
Attend unto my story,
About the Hornet’s crew.
Bound to the Spanish main,
There to protect our commerce,
But ne’er returned again.
And was the pirate’s dread;
Still more than death they hated
The Hornet’s boats, ’tis said.
Would send his gallant men
To scour the coast by sea and land
And find each pirate’s den.
And their little gain
They snatch’d with brave exertion,
From the hands of Spain.
And would have brought them home,
But, ah! her brave commander,
For dismal was his doom.
She off Tampico lay;
And many well remember
The gale that blew that day.
She had to put to sea;
The deadly blast, it is the last,
Brother, I’ll hear from thee.
Hope no more can charm;
The mother’s breast is aching,
And, love, why her alarm?
Beneath the hungry wave,
Her love death’s cup is drinking,
She shrieks, but cannot save.
The weeping mother cries,
“He was my youngest, dearest son,
The one I did most prize.
To men of low degree;
He lost his fortune on the land,
And sought it on the sea.
And why should I repine?
There many a mother lost a son
As proud and fair as mine.
With her infant at her breast,
Sheds o’er the orphan child a tear,
And feels as much distress’d.”
Are in the ocean deep;
No arm was nigh her crew to save,
She sunk, and thousands weep.
Our only hope to gain;
A remedy, though small, for those
Who lost all on the main.