| |
| IT was off the cuffs of Scituate, | |
| In old Massachusetts Bay, | |
| We took a stiff northeaster, | |
| About the break of day; | |
| Lord! how it howled and whistled | 5 |
| Through the ratlines and the shrouds, | |
| As the icy snow dashed pelting | |
| Through the scud of lowering clouds! | |
| |
| Outspoke then our bold captain,— | |
| “She fairly drifts astern; | 10 |
| Against this gale no Boston | |
| Can the good barque make, this turn; | |
| To beach her were but madness, | |
| Where the wild surf runs so high,— | |
| Under our lee lies Scituate, | 15 |
| And there we can but try.” | |
| |
| Then “Hard up!” cried the captain,— | |
| Like a bird she bore away, | |
| The blast just struck her quarter, | |
| And she flew across the bay; | 20 |
| Before us broke the dreaded bar, | |
| And by the helmsman stood | |
| Our captain, as the brave barque plunged | |
| Into the foam-tossed flood. | |
| |
| One plunge! the strong wave lifted her,— | 25 |
| Aghast stood all the crew! | |
| Again,—she rose upon the surge,— | |
| And it brought her safely through. | |
| Now, God bless Scituate Harbor, | |
| And be blessed forevermore, | 30 |
| Who saved us from the sea’s cold clasp, | |
| By that wild, treacherous shore. | |
| |
