Song of the Boatman

Bark that bears me through foam and squall,
You in the storm are my castle-wall ;
Though the sea should redden from bottom to top,
From tiller to mast she takes no drop.

On the tide-top, the tide-top,
Wherry a-ruint my land and store !
On the tide-top, the tide-top,
She is the boat can sail go-leor.

She dresses herself and goes gliding on,
Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn ;
For God has blessed her, gunnel and wale —
And O if you saw her stretch out to the gale !
On the tide-top, the tide-top, etc.

Whillan, ahoy ! old heart of stone,
Stooping so black o'er the beach alone,
Answer me well — on the bursting brine
Saw you ever a bark like mine ?

On the tide-top, the tide-top, etc.
Says Whillan, Since first I was made of stone,
I have looked o'er the beach alone,
But till to-day, on the bursting brine
Saw I never a bark like thine !

On the tide-top, the tide-top, etc.
God of the air ! the seamen shout,
When they see us tossing the brine about :
Give us the shelter of strand or rock,
Or through and through us she goes with a shock !
On the tide-top, the tide-top, etc.