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HEH!

ANCHOR SONG1

Walk her round. Heave, ah heave her short again!

Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full-
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah fare you well; we can stay no more
with you, my love-

Down, set down your liquor and your girl
from off your knee;

For the wind has come to say:

"You must take me while you may,

If you'd go to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"

Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah break it out o' that! Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear.

Port-port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath

her foot,

And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year! 1 Copyright, 1893, by D. Appleton & Co.

Well, ah fare you well, for we've got to take her out again

Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargofree.

And it's time to clear and quit

When the hawser grips the bitt,

So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a
promise from the sea!

Heh! Tally on.

Aft and walk away with her! Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the

fall!

Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah fare you well, for the Channel wind's
took hold of us,

Choking down our voices as we snatch the
gaskets free.

And it's blowing up for night,

And she's dropping Light on Light,

And she's snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea.

Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone to-night.

Sick she is and harbour-sick-O sick to clear the land!

Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over

us

Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand!

Well, ah fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the

door on us,

Whirling like a windmill through the dirty
scud to lee:

Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we're off to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!

THE LOST LEGION

THERE'S a Legion that never was 'listed,
That carries no colours or crest,
But, split in a thousand detachments,
Is breaking the road for the rest.
Our fathers they left us their blessing—
They taught us, and groomed us, and
crammed;

But we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes
To go and find out and be damned

(Dear boys!),

To go and get shot and be damned.

So some of us chivy the slaver,

And some of us cherish the black, And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast, And some on-the Wallaby track:

And some of us drift to Sarawak,

And some of us drift up The Fly, And some share our tucker with tigers, And some with the gentle Masai

(Dear boys!),

Take tea with the giddy Masai.

We've painted The Islands vermilion, We've pearled on half-shares in the Bay, We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets, We've starved on a Seedeeboy's pay; We've laughed at the world as we found it Its women and cities and men

From Sayyid Burgash in a tantrum To the smoke-reddened eyes of Loben (Dear boys!),

We've a little account with Loben.

The ends o' the Earth were our portion,
The ocean at large was our share.
There was never a skirmish to windward
But the Leaderless Legion was there:
Yes, somehow and somewhere and always
We were first when the trouble began,
From a lottery-row in Manila,

To an I.D.B. race on the Pan

(Dear boys!),

With the Mounted Police on the Pan.

We preach in advance of the Army,

We skirmish ahead of the Church,

With never a gunboat to help us

When we're scuppered and left in the

lurch.

But we know as the cartridges finish,

And we're filed on our last little shelves,

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