At dreary midnight's cheerless hour,
Deserted e'en by Cynthia's beam,
When tempests beat, and torrents roar,
And twinkling stars no longer gleam,
The weary sailor spent with toil,
Clings firmly to the weather shrouds,
And still the lengthened hours beguile,
Sings as he views the gathering clouds,
Larboard watch, ahoy!
But who can speak the joy he feels,
While o'er the foam his vessel reels,
And his tired eyelids slumbering fall,
He rouses at the welcome call
Of Larboard watch, ahoy!
With anxious care he eyes each wave,
That swelling threatens to o'er whelm,
And, his storm-beaten bark to save,
Directs with skill the faithful helm;
With joy he drinks the cheering grog,
'Mid storms that bellow loud and hoarse,
With joy he heaves the reeling log,
And marks the lee way and the course,
Lardboard watch ahoy!