Alexandria Gazette, Commercial And Political

From the Port Folio.

NAVAL SONG.

This life, boys, at best's but a rough sort of trip,
And we've nothing but honor to lose:
So 'tis better, d'ye see, ere we give up the shift,
Like Lawrence to finish life's cruise,
For I fancy we'll all meet at Davy's again
As jovial as e'er we met here.
Then what do we value the scoff on the free,
That from France and England's self starts?
They may count us their hulks till they're tir'd, d'ye see,
And we'll count them as many true hearts,
That can stick to their moorings, thro' life's foulest squalls,
And still face the world as it goes.
So the ninnies we'll baulk who dare think we'll descend
Our rights on the seas to forego;
We have biscuit and grog for a true hearted friend,
And a merry three cheers for a foe:
For the world & its great ones may change as they please,
But a sailor's a sailor, boys, still;
Then let the cold heart in its own baseness freeze.
That thinks we'll be shy on the waves
Shall we skulk, boys, and hunt out by-ways thro' the seas,
Like cowardly rovers or slaves?
Away with such gabble and nonsense, say I,
While we've Yankee colors to show:
We don't know the count of his ships who's our foe,
And, what is yet more, we don't care:
For ourselves, to the very heart's core, lads, we know;
And so, come foul weather or fair
I'm for setting top-gallants and booming ahead,
And we'll turn by for none as we go:
Then, huzza! for free trade, and our rights as we be,
'Tis a whim that we like more and more;
And sailors must have out their whims, d'ye see,
Whether fighting or jigging on shore
So, huzza! for free trade and for colors mast high,
No skulking or quibbling for me:
Whether Bainbridge, or Hull, or Decatur commands,
Rodgers, Biddle, or Jones, 'tis all one
Huzza! and huzza! and huzza! sing all hands,
And yard arm to yard arm's the fun!
Then lubbers stand clear! we have work to do, boys,
For 'tis England's old cross must come down;
And we'll rake, till sly death our heart's cables shall slip,
He was dying; says he, "Boys don't give up the ship!"
And the words took his soul off to heav'n!

Brave heart! he is gone to his rest;
never mind!
We are here to fight under him still;
So, no more of vain talking, or whining or art;
We've to fight for the rights of the states;
And, with honor our pilot, with justice our chart,
Good humor and friendship our mates;
They'll find, if we've biscuit and grog for a friend,
We've a merry three cheers for a foe.