TO A DECAYED SEAMAN.

AIL! seventy-four cut down! Hail, Top and Lop! Unless I’m much mistaken in my notion, Thou wast a stirring Tar, before that hop Became so fatal to thy locomotion;— Now, thrown on shore, like a mere weed of ocean, Thou readest still to men a lesson good, To King and Country showing thy devotion, By kneeling thus upon a stump of wood! Still is thy spirit strong as alcohol; Spite of that limb, begot of acorn-egg,— Methinks,—thou Naval History in one Vol.— A virtue shines, e’en in that timber leg, For unlike others that desert their Poll, Thou walkest ever with thy “Constant Peg!”