Page:Child of a tar.pdf/3

 :Alas! too severely she felt; Bow'd down by misfortune, death made her his own,
 * And snatch'd her to regions afar,

Distress'd and quite friendless, she left me to moan,—
 * A poor little child of a Tar.

Thus plaintive he mourn'd, when a sailor who passed,
 * Stopped a moment to give him relief,

He stretch'd forth his hand, and a look on him cast,
 * A look full of wonder and grief.

What, William! he cried, my poor little boy,—
 * With wealth I've returned from the war,

Thy sorrows shall cease, nor shall grief more annoy,
 * The poor little child of a Tar.

Care, thou canker of our joys,
 * Now thy tyrant reign is o'er,

Fill the merry bowl my boys,
 * Join in the Bacchanalian roar.