The Crew Of The Nancy Lee.

Polly's the mate of the Nancy Lee,
    And Tom is the skipper bold,
        They sail together
        In rough wind and weather,
    And they are the crew, all told.

    In their taut and trim little boat they ride
Away o'er the bright blue sea,
        With hands ever ready,
        And hearts ever steady,
Whatever the dangers may be.
And a smarter crew will never be found,
Though you may search the whole world round.

Lizzie Lawson

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Lizzie Lawson

Christmas Roses

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

A Song.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Father's Boat.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Hie For Christmas!

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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Father's Boat.

IT'S Father's boat we're watching,
            Away out on the sea,
She's named the Pretty Polly,
            One hundred and ninety three,
Father called her the Polly,
            After Mother and me.

There isn't a smarter boat
            Than Father's on the sea,
The Pretty Polly is our ship,
            Father's the skipper is he,
And we are watching for Father,
            We're watching, Nancy and me.

Sometimes the wind blows wildly,
            But Nancy, and Mother, and me,
We sing a bit of a hymn we know,
            The hymn for those at sea,
Although when we think of Father,
            We're as near to choke as can be.

To-night the moon will be shining,
            A sight it will be to see,
Fathe...

Lizzie Lawson

The Nancy's Pride

On the long slow heave of a lazy sea,
To the flap of an idle sail,
The Nancy's Pride went out on the tide;
And the skipper stood by the rail.

All down, all down by the sleepy town,
With the hollyhocks a-row
In the little poppy gardens,
The sea had her in tow.

They let her slip by the breathing rip,
Where the bell is never still,
And over the sounding harbor bar,
And under the harbor hill.

She melted into the dreaming noon,
Out of the drowsy land,
In sight of a flag of goldy hair,
To the kiss of a girlish hand.

For the lass who hailed the lad who sailed,
Was--who but his April bride?
And of all the fleet of Grand Latite,
Her pride was the Nancy's Pride.

So the little vessel faded down
With her creaking boom...

Bliss Carman

The People's Fleet

Out of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
    A fleet of little ships, whose every name--
Daffodil, Sea-lark, Rose and Surf and Snow,
    Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;

Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
    The people's fleet that never knew its worth,
And every name is a broken phrase of song
    To some remembered loveliness on earth.

There's Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank and May,
    Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:
There's Ruth and Kindly Light and Robin Gray
    With Mizpah. (May that simple prayer come true!)

Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,
    A fleet of memories that can never fail.

Alfred Noyes

The Old Cruiser

Here's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.

Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!

Comes a vessel out of the dock
Fresh and spry as a fighting-cock,
Feathered with sails and spurred with steam,
Heading out of the classic stream.

Crew of a hundred all aboard,
Every man as fine as a lord.
Gay they look and proud they feel,
Bowling along on even keel.

On they float with wind and tide, -
Gain at last the old ship's side;
Every man looks down in turn, -
Reads the name that's on her stern.

"Twenty-nine...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Seabolts Volunteers

They towed the Seabolt down the stream,
And through the harbours mouth;
She spread her wings and sailed away
To seek the sunny South.

But, ah! she met with storm on storm
Ere half her course had run;
And all her masts were torn away,
And all her boats save one.

The good old ship had settled far
Beneath her cargo line,
Her riven sides were drinking deep
The draughts of ocean brine.

There gathered round the only boat
The women pale with fear,
And trembling little ones, who clung
To those who held them dear.

Then spoke the captain, brave and true,
His voice rose oer the roar;
The boat will save us all but five,
She cannot float with more!

And backward from the side he stepped
(He had been born at sea)

Henry Lawson

The Three-Decker

Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.
It took a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, Ive found her first and best,
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.

Fair held the breeze behind us, twas warm with lovers prayers,
Wed stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs.
They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse confessed,
And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the Blest.

By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of Cook,
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed,
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest.

We asked no social questions, we pumped no hidden shame,
W...

Rudyard