Hoist the star-spangled banner, the flag of the free! The brightest and best that waves over the sea: May its stars ever brighten, its shadow increase, Then a fig for John Bull and his water-police. Wear ship! then for sea, blow you fair breezes, blow! And what’s that to any one, whether or no?
Here’s a health to brave Anthony, pass it along, May his fortune be great, and his name live in song; Here’s to Smith, our first-mate, fill your glasses with glee, For a right manly, true-hearted sailor is he. Here’s success to the cause that we all of us know; But what’s that to any one, whether or no?
Here’s the good ship Catalpa, and all her ship’s crew; Land of felons and jailers, here’s to you adieu, From your dry, sandy shores we are speeding away, May your fortune be brighter at no distant day; Here’s the land of the free, may it flourish and grow,— And God prosper old Ireland wherever we go.
Rolling Home.
[The following is one of his latest literary efforts,—which was often sung by the ship’s company,—a song entitled “Rolling Home,” which eminently proves that he is possessed of as much poetic fire and genius, as he is of tact and ability to carry out great political undertakings.]
Right across the Indian Ocean, while the trade-wind follows fast, Speeds our ship with gentle motion; fear and chains behind us cast. Rolling home! rolling home! rolling home across the sea; Rolling home to bright Columbia; home to friends and Liberty.
Through the waters blue and bright, through dark wave and hissing foam, Ever onward, with delight, we are sailing still for home; O’er our pathway in the sunshine flies the wide-winged albatross; O’er our topmast in the moonlight hangs the starry southern cross.
Rolling home, etc., etc.