A FISHERMAN'S SONG.
BY ALFRED H. MILES.
Hurrah! the craft is dashing
Athwart the briny sea;
Hurrah! the wind is lashing
The white sails merrily;
The sun is shining overhead,
The rough sea heaves below;
We sail with every canvas spread,
Yo ho! my lads, yo ho!
Simple is our vocation,
We seek no hostile strife;
But 'mid the storm's vexation
We succour human life;
O, simple are our pleasures,
We crave no miser's hoard,
But haul the great sea's treasures
To spread a frugal board.
But if at usurpation
We needs must strike a blow,
Our hardy avocation
Shall fit us for the foe;
Then let the despot's strength compete
Upon the open sea,
And on the proudest of his fleet
Our flag shall flutter free.