The “Brighton”
|
You travellers from these Channel Isles, And you men on England's shores, You who have crossed by day and night, Oft laden with precious store; Have you not from the steamer's poop, Looking at the angry wave, Thought how could the best built sloop, Live through such a dreadful gale? But so it is and from year to year, Through long winter's darkest nights, Our good sailors regardless of fear, With the waves do always fight. Like the Albatross with wing outspread, Or the Petrel in the spray, Their ships through storms are always sped, They “live to fight another day." But alas! a much more dreadful foe, Lurking on the liquid plains, Will bring sometimes the ship to woe, When nearing our shores again, That foe is the fog, that gives him dread, And baffles the captain's skill ; While with anxious eyes he heaves the lead And says "in deep water still." Good gallant Brighton, we do deplore, The loss we have sustained, On boisterous wave, we shall no more By thee be cradled again. On a pointed reef, off Guernsey's coast, While sounding bell and horn, Thy noble form, our Channel's boast, Is sadly wrecked and torn. From Weymouth on to our Norman Isles, To return again next day, The Brighton oft laughed at wind and tide, And danced through many a gale; But alas the fog, that fearful fog, The mariner's dreaded foe, In spite of care and trusty log, Brought her to grief and woe. Let us thank the Lord, the souls were saved, On that calamitous day, The mails and goods beneath the waves, Could never a life repay. To Captain Painter, we would extend, Our sympathy deep and true, He will surely know how to defend, Both his conduct and his crew.
|