Classic Poem

I STEAMED from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib how she smoked through the breeze
She 's a vessel as tight to my fancy
As ever boiled through the salt seas.

*****

When up the flue the sailor goes
And ventures on the pot ,
The landsman, he no better knows,
But thinks hard is his lot.

Bold Jack with smiles each danger meets,
Weighs anchor, lights the log;
Trims up the fire, picks out the slates,
And drinks his can of grog

*****

Go patter to lubbers and swabs do you see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
But a Boulton and Watt and good Wall's-end give me;
And it ain't to a little I 'll strike.

Though the tempest our chimney smack smooth shall down smite,
And shiver each bundle of wood;
Clear the wreck, stir the fire , and stow every thing tight,
And boiling a gallop we 'll scud.

*****

Hark, the boatswain hoarsely bawling,
By shovel, tongs, 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 every 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!