all the incidents of a storm in nautical
language and with true nautical correctness:
Cease rude Boreas, blustering railer,
     List ye landsmen all to me,
Messmates, hear a brother sailor,
     Sing the dangers of the sea.
Though antiquated, it maintains its ground
in the forecastle, and may still be heard of
occasionally in the maritime quarters of
East London and Liverpool, and other
great ports in the Old World and the New.

A sea song very popular in the middle
of the last century was Captain Death,
relating to the captain of the Terrible, who
was killed in an engagement with the
French in December,1757. It was a
tradition in the navy that the Terrible had
not only a man named Death for her
captain, but one named Devil, or Deville, for
her first lieutenant; and a third named
Ghost, for her surgeon. It was added, to
complete the ominous series of names
connected with the ship, that she was fitted
out at Execution Dock. The second stanza
will suffice as a specimen:

His ship was the Terrible, dreadful to see,
His crew were as brave and gallant as he;
Two hundred and more was their good complement,
And no braver fellows to sea ever went.
Each man was determined to spend his last breath,
In fighting for Britain and brave Captain Death.

The latter half of the eighteenth century
was prolific in sea songs, and produced,
among others, that particular sea song by
an Irish gentleman, which elicited the
singular mis-statement already mentioned,
that it was the only thoroughly good one
that the naval glory of England had
inspired. The song, very excellent of its
kind, was written by Mr.Prince Hoare,
who was born in 1754, and died at the age
of eighty: and was inspired by the dashing
act of the captain of the little frigate the
Arethusa in attacking and defeating the
formidable French line-of-battle ship La
Belle Poule:

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France:
We with two hundred did advance,
         On board of the Arethusa.
Our captain hailed the Frenchman "Ho!"
The Frenchman then cried out "Hallo!"
        "Bear down," said we,
        "To our admiral's lee!"'
No, no," said the Frenchman, " that can't be:"
"Then I must lug you along with me!"
        Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land,
We forced them back upon the strand,
And fought till not a stick would stand,
        Of the gallant Arethusa.
And now we've driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
       Let each fill a glass
       To his favourite lass,
A health to the captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew,
       On board of the Arethusa!

This rattling song was arranged to an old
English air by Shield, the celebrated
composer, and deserves all praise except the
one given by its too enthusiastic admirer,
that it is the only good one of its kind in
our literature. Among other and very
numerous exceptions to this ultra-Irish
assertion is the bold song of David
Garrick, the music by Dr. Arne:
             Hearts of oak are our ships,
             Gallant tars are our men;
             We always are ready,
             Steady, boys, steady!
We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again!

Those who remember the singing of
John Braham will be reminded of a very
admirable sea song, The Bay of Biscay;
not a song of love, war, or wine, which
Aiken, a great critic, contended were the
only admissible subjects, but about the
manifold perils that confront "those who
go down to the sea in ships." This was,
perhaps, John Braham's masterpiece for
dramatic effect—a good song to a good
tune, affording scope for the best energies
of a good actor and singer. After
describing the danger of the "poor devoted
bark," where she lay, all the day in the Bay
of Biscay, the final burst of excitement, when
the sail of the ship that was to rescue the
crew from the foundering vessel appeared
in sight, always, as the phrase is, "took the
audience by storm:"

A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers,
Now we sail, with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay O!

The Mid Watch, by Richard Brinsley
Sheridan, is another song of the same era
and character, when all the talk of Englishmen
was of the sea, and of sea heroes, and
when the theatres found nothing so certain
"to draw" as a sea subject.

But a greater writer of sea songs than
any who had hitherto appeared was at hand,
imbued with the spirit of his time, as the
popular poet must always be, even though
his popularity may be as evanescent as the
feeling which gave it birth. This poet was
Charles Dibdin, one who must be
considered the best song writer England has
produced, and who ranks with Burns in
Scotland, with Béranger in France, and
with Moore in Ireland. It was his
pardonable and justifiable boast towards the
close of his career, "that his songs had
been considered an object of national