It blew great guns when Sammy Snooks Mounted the rolling paddles; He met the mate with fearful looks-- They shook each other's daddles. The word was given to let go, The funnel gave a screamer, The stoker whistled from below, And off she goes, blow high, blow low, The _Atalanta_ steamer. His native Hungerford he leaves, His Poll of Pedlar's Acre, Who now ashore in silence grieves Because he did not take her. There's a collision fore and aft; Against the pier they squeeze her. "Up boys, and save the precious craft, We from the station shall be chaff'd-- Ho--back her--stop her--ease her." Aha! the gallant vessel rights, She goes just where they want her; She nears at last the Lambeth lights, The trim-built _Atalantar_. Sam Snooks his messmates calls around; He speaks of Poll and beauty: When suddenly a grating sound Tells them the vessel's run aground While they forgot their duty. NO. II.--BEN BOUNCE. My name's Ben Bounce, d'ye see, A tar from top to toe, sirs. I'm merry, blithe and free, A marling-spike I know, sirs. In friendship or in love, I climb the top-sail's pinnacle, But in a storm I always prove My heart's abaft the binnacle. I fear no foreign foe, But cruise about the river; As up and down I go My timbers never shiver. When off life's end I get, I'll make no useless rumpus; But off my steam I'll let, And box my mortal compass. NO. III.--THE CAPTAIN'S ROUNDELAY. Away, away, we gaily glide Far from the wooden pier; And down into the gushing tide We drop the sailor's tear. On--with the strong and hissing steam, And seize the pliant wheel; Of days gone by I fondly dream, For oh! the tar _must_ feel! Quick, let the sturdy painter go, And put the helm a-port; Lay, lay the lofty funnel low, And keep the rigging taut. 'Tis true, my tongue decision shows, I act the captain's part; But oh! there's none on board that knows The captain's aching heart. Upon the paddle-box all day I've stood, and brav'd the gale, While the light vessel made her way Without a bit of sail. And as upon its onward flight The steamer cut the wave, My crew I've order'd left and right, My stout--my few--my brave! NO. IV.--TO MARY. Afloat, ashore, ahead, astern, With winds propitious or contrary. (I do not spin an idle yarn.) No--no, belay! I love thee, Mary. Amidships--on the Bentinck shrouds, Athwart the hawse, astride the mizen, Watching at night the fleecy clouds, Your Harry wishes you were his'n.