The moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple
Affording a chequered delight;
The gay jolly tars passed a word for the tipple,
And the toast — for ’twas Saturday night:
Some sweetheart or wife he loved as his life
Each drank, and wished he could hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was “The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!”

Some drank “The Queen,” and some her brave ships,
And some “The Constitution”;
Some “May our foes, and all such rips,
Yield to English resolution!”
That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,
And that they soon might hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was “The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!”

Some drank “The Prince,” and some “Our Land,”
This glorious land of freedom!
Some that our tars may never stand
For heroes brave to lead them!
That she who’s in distress may find,
Such friends as ne’er will fail her.
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was “The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!”

Advertisements