A mate of a schooner, bespatter'd with tar, Who had lately come in from Savanna-la-Mar,[F] For, the sake of an airing had stept from his deck And ventur'd a jaunt, at the risque of his neck, His name and his nation no soul could mistake.-- He was Bryan O'Bluster, and much of a rake; From morning till night he was still on the move, Was always in taverns, or always in love: His life was sustain'd by the virtues of grog, And many long miles he had sail'd by the log.-- Of battles and storms he had known a full share, And his face, it was plain, was the worse for the wear; To see a mean fellow, lord how it would fret him; And he hated a puppy, wherever he met him-- He was ready to bleed for the good of each State, But since they had left the poor seamen to fate; Themselves in the dumps, and their fair ones in tears, And many brave fellows detain'd in Algiers!-- Had spirit sufficient to make themselves free, But not to resent their affronts on the sea! As this was the case--he must bid us good night, And sail with a flag that would do itself right. At cursing and swearing he play'd a good hand, But never was easy a minute on land; If the wind was a-head, or his Kitty untrue, Why, patience was all the relief that he knew:-- In the midst of misfortune he still was serene, And Kitty, he said, was a feeble machine: His heart was too hard for a lady to sigh, Yet I guess'd him a rogue by the leer in his eye: "The world (he would say) is a whimsical dance-- And reason had taught him to leave it to chance. In chace of dame Fortune his prime he had pass'd, And now was beginning to fail very fast, But thought it was folly his heart to perplex, As Fortune was just like the rest of her sex;-- Designing, and fickle, and taken with show, Now fond of a monkey, and now of a beau:-- Yet, still, as the goddess was made up of whim, He meant to pursue 'till she smil'd upon him." And tho' he was always deceiv'd in the chace, He smooth'd up his whiskers, and wore a bold face. On horseback he first had attempted to go, But the horse was no fool, and had give him a throw; He fell in a pond, and with not a dry rag on The horse brought him back to the sign of the waggon, Where three times he call'd for a dram of their best, And three times the virtues of brandy confess'd; Then took some tobacco, and soberly said, "De'il take such a vessel; she's all by the head, Broach'd to on a sudden, and then, d'ye see, Myself and the saddle went over the lee." His head was so full of his ragged command He could scarcely believe he was yet on dry land; He would rise in his sleep; call the watch up at four, Ask the man at the helm how the Eddystone bore; Then, rubbing his eyes, bawl out, "By my soul, "We are bearing right down on the Hatteras shoal; "The devil may trust to such pilots as you: "We are close on the breakers--the breakers--halloo!"