William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The True Yankee SailorW
And his dear native land o’er the ocean to roam;
Like a sapling he sprung, he was fair to the view,
He was true Yankee oak, boys, the older he grew.
Though his body was weak and his hands they were soft,
When the signal was given, he the first went aloft:
The veterans all cried, “He’ll one day lead the van,”
For though rated a boy, he’d the soul of a man,
And the heart of a true Yankee sailor.
Still in peace or in war, Harry Bluff was the same;
So true to his love, and in battle so brave,
The myrtle and laurel entwined o’er his grave.
For his country he fell, when by victory crown’d,
The flag shot away, fell in tatters around,
The foe thought he’d struck, but he sung out—“Avast!”
And Columbia’s colours he nail’d to the mast,
And died like a true Yankee sailor.