Volume 6 — WHISTLING TOM;

1 Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom, A sailor who loved the sea? As brave as a lion was whistling Tom, And blithe as a lark was he! 2 A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,— He called it a cracking breeze,— And gaily he whistled whenever the blast Drove the maddened ship o’er the seas. 3 His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song, Yet you heard it above the roar: Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed, Tom only whistled the more. 4 If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,— While the yards dipped deep in the spray,— Like a careless bird in his stormy swing, He whistled and worked away. 5 But the bravest must die, and poor old Tom One night made the wave his pillow— He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft, When the tempest lashes the billow. 6 I have heard his note in the midst of the blast— It wailed like a spirit’s tone— He seemed aloft on the staggering mast, And whistled—“poor Tom’s alone!” 7 As the tempest rises the strain grows wild, And shrieks in the ocean’s roar— When the storm is past it dies away, And poor Tom is heard no more.