Three boats went out from Lancashire, But one came back to tell The story of that hurricane, The tale of ocean’s hell! All safely reached the _Mexico_, Their trysting-place to keep; For one there was the rescue, The others in the deep Fell in the arms of victory Dropped to their lonely grave, Their passing bell the tempest, Their requiem the wave! They clung to life like sailors, They fell to death like men,-- Where, in our roll of heroes, When in our story, when, Have Englishmen been braver, Or fought more loyally With death that comes by duty To the Warriors of the Sea? One boat came back to Lytham Its noble duty done; But at St. Anne’s and Southport The prize of death was won! Won by those gallant fellows Who went men’s lives to save, And died there crowned with glory, Enthroned upon the wave! Within a rope’s throw off the wreck The English sailors fell, A blessing on their faithful lips, When ocean rang their knell. Weep not for them, dear women! Cease wringing of your hands! Go out to meet your heroes Across the Southport sands! Grim death for them is stingless! The grave has victory! Cross oars and bear them nobly home, Brave Warriors of the Sea! When in dark nights of winter Fierce storms of wind and rain Howl round the cosy homestead, And lash the window-pane-- When over hill and tree top We hear the tempests roar, And hurricanes go sweeping on From valley to the shore-- When nature seems to stand at bay, And silent terror comes, And those we love on earth the best Are gathered in our homes,-- Think of the sailors round the coast, Who, braving sleet or snow, Leave sweethearts, wives, and little ones When duty bids them go! Think of our sea-girt island! A harbour, where alone No Englishman to save a life Has failed to risk his own. Then when the storm howls loudest, Pray of your charity That God will bless the lifeboat And the Warriors of the Sea! CLEMENT SCOTT. (_By permission of the Author, and the Proprietors of "Punch."_) CHAPTER IV. THE GOODWIN SANDS. About six miles off the east coast of Kent there is a sandbank known as the Goodwin Sands, extending for a distance of ten miles, between the North Foreland and the South Foreland. No part of our coast is so much dreaded by the mariner, and from early times it has been the scene of many terrible disasters. As Shakespeare says, it is "a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried."