The First Attempt to Reach the Shore
Where is the painter who shall paint for you,
Old Horn to All Atlantic said:
A-hay O! To me O!
He fell in victory's fierce pursuit,
Holed through and through with shot,
As the night was beginning to close in one rough September day
In the year of 1838, a steamer passed through the Fairway
When the drays are bogged and sinking, then it's no use sitting thinking,
You must put the teams together and must double-ban
SO YER trav’lin’ for yer pleasure while yer writin’ for the press?
An’ yer huntin’ arter “copy”?—well, I’ve heer’d o’ that. I guess
A sad tale of the sea, I will unfold,
About Mrs Lingard, that Heroine bold;
They towed the Seabolt down the stream,
And through the harbour’s mouth;
'Twas in the year of 1866, and on a very beautiful day,
That eighty-two passengers, with spirits light and gay,
Die Gedanken sind frei
My thoughts freely flower,
Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
Biddings good morrow to all our cares,
Riding along with a joyful heart.
'Twas on the 8th of January 1881,
That a terrific gale along the English Channel ran,
Ye landsmen all attend my verse, and I'll tell to ye a tale
Concerning the barque "Wm. Paterson" that was lost in a tempestuous gale
A sad tale of the sea I will relate, which will your hearts appal
Concerning the burning of the steamship "City of Montreal,"
Campin’ round Coonamble.
Keepin’ up the strike,
Kind Christians, all pay attention to me,
And Miss Mouat's sufferings I'll relate to ye;
On the summit of Mount Clarence rotting slowly in the air
Stands a tall and naked flagstaff, relic of the Russian scare—
Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
Twas in the year of 1842 and on the 27th of May
That six Companies of the 91st Regiment with spirits light and gay,
'Twas in the year of 1886, and on the 29th of November,
Which the surviving crew of the "Samuel Crawford" will long remember,
Oh Mary this London's a wonderful sight
With people here workin' by day and by night
The workers of Kembla, those leaders of men,
Those leaders of deed as in thought.
In Rome within the Sistine Chapel,
Covered over with Christian signs,
Farewell and adieu to you, Brisbane ladies
Farewell and adieu, you maids of Toowong
A Slave sold at Auction.
A time there was, when no one thought
The sale began—young girls were there,
Defenseless in their wretchedness,
'Twas on the 1st of April, and in the year of Eighteen thirteen,
That the whaler "Oscar" was wrecked not far from Aberdeen;
Where the early settler lingered,
Sometimes pitched his tent and stayed,
Who were the builders of Great Zimbabwe?
No man knows . . .
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