WHISTLING TOM;A FORECASTLE BALLAD.MUSIC AND WORDS COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
A FORECASTLE BALLAD.MUSIC AND WORDS COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
music
1Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom,A sailor who loved the sea?As brave as a lion was whistling Tom,And blithe as a lark was he!2A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,—He called it a cracking breeze,—And gaily he whistled whenever the blastDrove the maddened ship o’er the seas.3His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song,Yet you heard it above the roar:Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed,Tom only whistled the more.4If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,—While the yards dipped deep in the spray,—Like a careless bird in his stormy swing,He whistled and worked away.5But the bravest must die, and poor old TomOne night made the wave his pillow—He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft,When the tempest lashes the billow.6I have heard his note in the midst of the blast—It wailed like a spirit’s tone—He seemed aloft on the staggering mast,And whistled—“poor Tom’s alone!”7As the tempest rises the strain grows wild,And shrieks in the ocean’s roar—When the storm is past it dies away,And poor Tom is heard no more.
1Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom,A sailor who loved the sea?As brave as a lion was whistling Tom,And blithe as a lark was he!2A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,—He called it a cracking breeze,—And gaily he whistled whenever the blastDrove the maddened ship o’er the seas.3His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song,Yet you heard it above the roar:Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed,Tom only whistled the more.4If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,—While the yards dipped deep in the spray,—Like a careless bird in his stormy swing,He whistled and worked away.5But the bravest must die, and poor old TomOne night made the wave his pillow—He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft,When the tempest lashes the billow.6I have heard his note in the midst of the blast—It wailed like a spirit’s tone—He seemed aloft on the staggering mast,And whistled—“poor Tom’s alone!”7As the tempest rises the strain grows wild,And shrieks in the ocean’s roar—When the storm is past it dies away,And poor Tom is heard no more.
1
Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom,
A sailor who loved the sea?
As brave as a lion was whistling Tom,
And blithe as a lark was he!
2
A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,—
He called it a cracking breeze,—
And gaily he whistled whenever the blast
Drove the maddened ship o’er the seas.
3
His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song,
Yet you heard it above the roar:
Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed,
Tom only whistled the more.
4
If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,—
While the yards dipped deep in the spray,—
Like a careless bird in his stormy swing,
He whistled and worked away.
5
But the bravest must die, and poor old Tom
One night made the wave his pillow—
He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft,
When the tempest lashes the billow.
6
I have heard his note in the midst of the blast—
It wailed like a spirit’s tone—
He seemed aloft on the staggering mast,
And whistled—“poor Tom’s alone!”
7
As the tempest rises the strain grows wild,
And shrieks in the ocean’s roar—
When the storm is past it dies away,
And poor Tom is heard no more.