William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Youthful SailorJohn D. Wolfe, Jr.
T
And bids each weeping friend adieu;
Fair blows the gale, the canvass swells;
Slow sinks the upland from his view.
Resplendent beams the god of day;
The fourth high looming in the mist,
A war-ship’s flouting banners play.
Too kind, she wafts a ruffian band;
Her blue track lightens to the bark,
And soon on deck the miscreants stand.
Suspense holds mute the anxious crew—
Who is their prey?—poor sailor-boy!
The baleful glance is fix’d on you.
They damn the “lying Yankee scrawl:”
Torn from thine hand, it strews the wave—
They force thee trembling to the yawl.
The hand of friendship waved farewell;
Mad was thy brain, as, far behind,
In the gray mist thy vessel fell.
The captain mercy might impart:
Vain were that hope, which bade thee look
For mercy in a pirate’s heart.
When malice joins with uncheck’d power!
Such woes, unpitied, and unknown,
For many a month, the sailor bore.
As memory linger’d on past joy;
As oft they flung the cruel jeer,
And damn’d the “chicken-liver’d boy.”
Kind sleep his wasting form embraced,
Some ready minion plied the lash,
And the loved dream of freedom chased.
The deadly hectic flush’d his cheek;
On his pale brow the cold dew hung:
He sigh’d, and sunk upon the deck!
No hand would close the sailor’s eye;
Remorseless, his pale corpse they gave,
Unshrouded, to the friendly wave.
A hellish shout arose;
Exultingly the demons cried,
“So fare all Albion’s rebel foes!”