LAWRENCE'S VICTORY. ALL hail Columbia's sons! once more, Columbia's sons shall ever be, The gallant Lawrence stemmed the sea, Flowed in the breeze and still shall flow. A bird of Albion's daring race, The rage of battle warmer grew, Death reigned with haughty triumph there, The thundering broadsides faster flew, Whistling along the floating air. Columbia's sons, &c. But lo! she strikes; the Peacock's crest, High on the growing scroll of fame, And there, brave LAWRENCE, shall thy name Columbia's sons shall ever be, THE TARS OF COLUMBIA. YE sons of Columbia, the trumpet of fame, Through the wide world your actions shall loudly proclaim, See Liberty's genius in triumph arise, Recording your deeds as she mounts to the skies, CHORUS. Whilst at the hostile shore, where thundering cannons roar, The note of each brave tar, each brave tar shall be, No tribute! but glory, we'll die or be free. The brave sons of Freedom, who fell in the cause, Whilst at the hostile shore, &c. See Preble exalted! a monument stand! Surrounded by heroes, who under his command, On Tripoli's tyrant their vengeance have hurled, And the deeds of Columbians resound through the world. Whilst at the hostile shore, &c. May Washington's genius our couutry defend, And that charter mantain which freedom has penned; But should tyranny dare our rights to invade, CHORUS. Whilst at the hostile shore, where thundering cannons roar, The note of each brave tar, each brave tar shall be, No tribute, but glory, we'll die or be free. COLUMBIA'S HARDY SEAMEN. GAILY lads, our friends we're leaving, Soon avenged our country's quarrels, Love of country, love of glory, Hail Columbia's hardy seamen, Not the world can make us slaves. "Arm our floating towers of timber,”— Congress bids-each pulse beats higher; Shew the world our joints are limber, Nerves of steel, and souls of fire. Now our breasts with ardor glowing, Haste then, seize each plundering Corsair, Thence to the wide world's wonder, Let us live a band of brothers, Never fearing foes or weather, JACK'S DELIGHT. SWEET is the ship that, under sail, Sweet, O sweet's the flowing cann; ədð ai sbutitlum raigure out mon qu dow Sweet to poise the laboring oar, When the boatswain pipes the barge to man The needle, faithful to the north, Let seamanship do all it can ; When in the bilboes I was penned, None hailed me, woman, child, or man. I'd all the world in lovely Nan I love my duty, love my friend, By manners love to shew the man; First made me doat on lovely Nan. |