The Portland Gazette

POETRY.

From the Richmond Enquirer:

THE SEA-BOY.

The winds are whistling through the shrouds;
The waves are heaving high;
And 'mid you dreary dashings
Threatening eyes shy;
Whilst, since the sails are angry furl'd
Coil'd, shivering in the loe,
A little sea-boy says "the world
Is but the sea for me."

I never knew a father's care:
And scarce a mother's love;
They died a poor and broken pair,
And left their child to rove—
To rove where now the billows hurl'd
Are bursting from the lee:
And yet this warring wat'ry world
Has been a friend to me.

The cot, which sheltered once my head,
Is mould'ring on the plain:
The tree, whose branches o'er it spread,
I ne'er shall see again—
Save, where yon billows high are curl'd,
No home have I to see:
Yet still this warring wat'ry world
Has been a home to me.

My mother said "there's One above
The orphan to protect!"
And I will ne'er forget her love,
Or dying words neglect;
For though the winds in wildness whirl'd,
Are raging o'er the sea,
Yet will that One, this warring world
Forbid to injure me.

Yes: let the tempest roaring, dread,
Rave round us, and above;
Our ship has not a timber-lack
But I have learn'd to love;
And she will dash the billows curl'd,
Far from her on the lee;
And prove, amid a wrecking world,
A friend, in need, to me.

I still must count e'er yet I win ten,
Three fourth parts of a year;
But she shall know me, like the men
When I have strength to steer—
On now with all but try-sail furl'd
I'd set her pennant free:
For 'mid this warrior wat'ry world
There's not a fear in me.

And I will buy me trowsers white,
When heaves our port in view;
And have three rows of buttons bright.
Upon my jacket blue;
For though by storm and fortune whirl'd,
Our captain and the sea,
Amid this warring wat'ry world,
Have been but friends to me."