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Article H.M.S. EURYDICE. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
H.M.S. Eurydice.
H . M . S . EURYDICE .
Lost March , 1878 . BY SAVARICUS . A TRIM-BUILT ship is speeding o ' er the main ,
" ^ With sails well set to bear the goodly strain ; A kindly breeze now wafts her fast along , And breathing low seems but a zephyr ' s song ; Clear from her bow she shakes the sparkling spray , And , like a courser , proudly bounds away .
Foam-crested are the waves , aud these she cleaves As sea-birds skim the air . The track she leaves Appears and disappears like melting snow—Rose-tinted by the setting sun ' s red glow , A fleeting path upon an open sea ,
A wake to watch and beautiful to see . Day after day , by prosp ' rous breezes blest , She ploughs her way through surging ocean ' s breast ; Her crew three hundred , mainly " British Tars , "
For duty cheery , lithe , like bending spars ; Their movements prove the ship and men are one . At " homeward bound " how fast their pulses run So fair a voyage ; sailing day and night The distance shortens , hearts grow gay and light ;
Old England's cliffs to welcome eyes soon loom—The morn is bright , without a sign of gloom . The church-bell's voice proclaims the day of rest , Each sailor in his smartest garb is drest . The gath ' ring clouds the rising storm foretell ,
But land is nigh , to idle thoughts farewell . A few short hours—the snow is falling fast , The rushing wind from shore is sweeping past . A squall ! the sails recoil , the trembling ship All stagg ' ring , lifts her bow , men reel and
slip—The swelling sea pours in at open port—A plunge—she sinks ! by fatal tempest caught .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
H.M.S. Eurydice.
H . M . S . EURYDICE .
Lost March , 1878 . BY SAVARICUS . A TRIM-BUILT ship is speeding o ' er the main ,
" ^ With sails well set to bear the goodly strain ; A kindly breeze now wafts her fast along , And breathing low seems but a zephyr ' s song ; Clear from her bow she shakes the sparkling spray , And , like a courser , proudly bounds away .
Foam-crested are the waves , aud these she cleaves As sea-birds skim the air . The track she leaves Appears and disappears like melting snow—Rose-tinted by the setting sun ' s red glow , A fleeting path upon an open sea ,
A wake to watch and beautiful to see . Day after day , by prosp ' rous breezes blest , She ploughs her way through surging ocean ' s breast ; Her crew three hundred , mainly " British Tars , "
For duty cheery , lithe , like bending spars ; Their movements prove the ship and men are one . At " homeward bound " how fast their pulses run So fair a voyage ; sailing day and night The distance shortens , hearts grow gay and light ;
Old England's cliffs to welcome eyes soon loom—The morn is bright , without a sign of gloom . The church-bell's voice proclaims the day of rest , Each sailor in his smartest garb is drest . The gath ' ring clouds the rising storm foretell ,
But land is nigh , to idle thoughts farewell . A few short hours—the snow is falling fast , The rushing wind from shore is sweeping past . A squall ! the sails recoil , the trembling ship All stagg ' ring , lifts her bow , men reel and
slip—The swelling sea pours in at open port—A plunge—she sinks ! by fatal tempest caught .