And gets a kind of sort of a land-waiter
To splice me, heel to heel,
Under the she-mare's keel,

And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-starn!

My eyes! how she did pitch!

And wouldn't keep her own to go in no line,
Tho' I kept bowsing, bowsing at her bow-line,
But always making lee-way to the ditch,
And yaw'd her head about all sorts of ways.
The devil sink the craft!

And wasn't she trimendus slack in stays!
We couldn't, no how, keep the inn abaft !
Well-I suppose

We hadn't run a knot- -or much beyond—
(What will you have on it?)—but off she goes,
Up to her bends in a fresh-water pond!
There I am!-all a-back!

So I looks forward for her bridle-gears,
To heave her head round on the t'other tack;
But when I starts,

The leather parts,

And goes away right over by the ears!

What could a fellow do,

Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in the bilboes, But trim myself upright for bringing-to,

And square his yard-arms, and brace up his elbows,
In rig all snug and clever,

Just while his craft was taking in her water?
I didn't like my berth tho', howsomdever,
Because the yarn, you see, kept getting tauter,—
Says I—I wish this job was rayther shorter!

The chase had gain'd a mile

A-head, and still the she-mare stood a-drinking:
Now, all the while

Her body didn't take of course to shrinking.

Says I, she's letting out her reefs, I'm thinking— And so she swell'd, and swell'd,

And yet the tackle held,

'Till both my legs began to bend like winkin.
My eyes! but she took in enough to founder!
And there's my timbers straining every bit,
Ready to split,

And her tarnation hull a-growing rounder!

Well, there—off Hertford Ness,

We lay both lash'd and water-logg'd together,

And can't contrive a signal of distress; Thinks I, we must ride out this here foul weather, Tho' sick of riding out-and nothing less; When, looking round, I sees a man a-starn :Hollo! says I, come underneath her quarter! And hands him out my knife to cut the yarn. So I gets off, and lands upon the road, And leaves the she-mare to her own consarn, A-standing by the water.

If I get on another, I'll be blow'd!—

And that's the way, you see, my legs got bow'd!

THE VOLUNTEER

"The clashing of my armour in my ears

Sounds like a passing bell; my buckler puts me
In mind of a bier; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe
To dig my grave.'

THE LOVER'S PROGRESS.

I

"TWAS in that memorable year
France threaten'd to put off in
Flat-bottom'd boats, intending each
To be a British coffin,

To make sad widows of our wives,
And every babe an orphan :—

II

When coats were made of scarlet cloaks,
And heads were dredg'd with flour,

I listed in the Lawyer's Corps,
Against the battle hour;
A perfect Volunteer-for why?
I brought my "will and pow'r."

III

One dreary day—a day of dread,

Like Cato's, over-cast

About the hour of six, (the morn

And I were breaking fast,)

There came a loud and sudden sound,

That struck me all aghast !

IV

A dismal sort of morning roll,
That was not to be eaten ;
Although it was no skin of mine,
But parchment that was beaten,
I felt tattooed through all my flesh,
Like any Otaheitan.

V

My jaws with utter dread enclos'd
The morsel I was munching,

And terror lock'd them up so tight,

My very teeth went crunching

All through my bread and tongue at once, Like sandwich made at lunching.

VI

My hand that held the tea-pot fast,
Stiffen'd, but yet unsteady,

Kept pouring, pouring, pouring o'er

The cup in one long eddy,

Till both my hose were mark'd with tea, As they were mark'd already.

VII

I felt my visage turn from red
To white-from cold to hot;
But it was nothing wonderful
My colour changed, I wot,
For, like some variable silks,
I felt that I was shot.

VIII

And looking forth with anxious eye,
From my snug upper story,

I saw our melancholy corps,

Going to beds all gory;
The pioneers seem'd very loth
To axe their way to glory.

IX

The captain march'd as mourners march,
The ensign too seem'd lagging,

And many more, although they were
No ensigns, took to flagging-
Like corpses in the Serpentine,
Methought they wanted dragging.

X

But while I watch'd, the thought of death

Came like a chilly gust,

And lo! I shut the window down,

With very little lust

To join so many marching men,

That soon might be March dust.

XI

Quoth I, "Since Fate ordains it so,

Our foe the coast must land on" ;—
I felt so warm beside the fire

I cared not to abandon;

Our hearths and homes are always things That patriots make a stand on.

XII

"The fools that fight abroad for home,"
Thought I, "may get a wrong one;
Let those who have no homes at all
Go battle for a long one."

The mirror here confirm'd me this
Reflection, by a strong one.

XIII

For there, where I was wont to shave,

And deck me like Adonis,

There stood the leader of our foes,

With vultures for his cronies

No Corsican, but Death himself,

The Bony of all Bonies.