[No 52 THE WRECK OFF SCILLY]
H.F.S.
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Come all you brisk young sailors bold
That plough the raging main,
A tragedy I will unfold
In story sad and plain.
From my true love 'twas pressed was I
The gallant ship to steer
To Indies west,—each heart beat high
With confidence and cheer.
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A year was gone, and home at last,
We turn'd with swelling sail,
When—'ere the Scilly over-passed
There broke on us a gale.
The boatswain up aloft did go.
He went aloft so high.
More angry did the ocean grow,
More menacing the sky.
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