Among the songs sung on this occasion, were several composed by seafaring people, in our own country. The following drew tears from the eyes of our generous hearted sailors. It pathetically describes what many of them had experienced, the _impressment of an American sailor boy_, by a British man of war, _the tearing up of his legal protection_, and of his _sinking under a broken heart_. It was written by Mr. _John De Wolfe_, of Rhode Island.
_The Impressment of an American Sailor Boy._
_Sung on board the British prison ship Crown Prince, the Fourth of July, 1813, by a number of the American prisoners._
The youthful Sailor mounts the bark, And bids each weeping friend adieu; Fair blows the gale, the canvass swells; Slow sinks the uplands from his view.
Three mornings, from his ocean bed, Resplendent beams the God of day; The fourth, high looming in the mist, A war-ship's floating banners play.
Her yawl is launch'd; light o'er the deep, Too kind, she wafts a ruffian band; Her blue track lengthens to the bark, And soon on deck the miscreants stand.
Around they throw the baleful glance; Suspense holds mute the anxious crew-- Who is their prey?--poor sailor boy! The baleful glance is fix'd on you.
Nay, why that useless scrip unfold? They damn the "_lying yankee scrawl_," Torn from thine hand, it strews the wave,-- They force thee, trembling, to the yawl.
Sick was thine heart, as from the deck, The hand of friendship wav'd farewell; Mad was thy brain, as, far behind, In the grey mist, thy vessel fell.
One hope, yet, to thy bosom clung, The captain mercy might impart; Vain was that hope, which bade thee look, For mercy in a _Pirate's_ heart.
What woes can man on man inflict, When malice joins with uncheck'd pow'r; Such woes, unpitied and unknown, For many a month, the sailor bore!
Oft gem'd his eye the bursting tear, As mem'ry lingered on past joy; As oft they flung the cruel jeer, And damn'd the "_chicken liver'd boy_."
When sick at heart, with "hope deferr'd," Kind sleep his wasting form embrac'd, Some ready minion ply'd the lash, And the lov'd dream of freedom chas'd.
Fast to an end his miseries drew; The deadly hectic flush'd his cheek; On his pale brow the cold dew hung, He sigh'd, and sunk upon the deck!