THE STORM RE-WRITTEN.

ARK, the boatswain hoarsely bawling, By shovel, tongues, and poker stand; Down the scuttle quick be hauling, Down your bellows, hand, boys, hand; Now it freshens,—blow like blazes; Now unto the coal-hole go; Stir, boys, stir, don’t mind black faces, Up your ashes nimbly throw. Ply your bellows, raise the wind, boys, See the valve is clear of course; Let the paddles spin, don’t mind, boys, Though the weather should be worse. Fore and aft a proper draft get, Oil the engines, see all clear; Hands up, each a sack of coal get, Man the boiler, cheer, lads, cheer. Now the dreadful thunder’s roaring, Peal on peal contending clash; On our heads fierce rain falls pouring, In our eyes the paddles splash. One wide water all around us, All above one smoke-black sky: Different deaths at once surround us; Hark! what means that dreadful cry? The funnel’s gone! cries ev’ry tongue out, The engineer’s washed off the deck; A leak beneath the coal-hole’s sprung out Call all hands to clear the wreck. Quick, some coal, some nubbly pieces; Come, my hearts, be stout and bold; Plumb the boiler, speed decreases, Four feet water getting cold. While o’er the ship wild waves are beating, We for wives or children mourn; Alas! from hence there’s no retreating; Alas! to them there’s no return. The fire is out—we’ve burst the bellows, The tinder-box is swamped below; Heaven have mercy on poor fellows, For only that can serve us now!