The Yankee Man-O-War, after 1778

'Tis of a gallant Yankee ship
That flew the stripes and stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west
Blew through the pitch-pine spars,
With her starboard tacks a-board, my boys,
She hung upon the gale; on an autumn night
We raised the light on the old head of Kinsale.

It was a clear and cloudless night,
And the wind blew steady and strong,
As gaily over the sparkling deep
Our good ship bowled along;
With the foaming seas beneath her bow
The fiery waves she spread,
And bending low her bosom of snow,
She buried her lee, cat-head.

There was no talk of short'ning sail,
by him who walked the poop,
And under the press of her pond'ring jib,
The boom bent like a hoop!
And the groaning water-ways told the strain
That held her stout main-tack,
But he only laughed as he glanced aloft
At a white and silv'ry track.

The mid-tide meets in the channel waves
That flow from shore to shore,
And the mist hung heavy upon the land
From Featherstone to Dunmore,
And that sterling light in Tuskey Rock
Where the old bell tolls each hour,
And the beacon light that shone so bright
Was quench'd on Waterford Tower.

The nightly robes our good ship wore
Were her three topsails set,
Her spanker and her standing jib,
The courses being fast;
"Now, lay aloft! my heroes bold,
Let not a moment pass!"
And royals and top-gallant sails
Were quickly on each mast.

What looms upon our starboard bow?
What hangs upon the breeze?
'Tis time our good ship hauled her wind
A-breast the old Saltee's.
For by her ponderous press of sail
And by her consorts four,
We saw our morning visitor
Was a British man-of-war.

Up spake our noble captain then,
as a shot ahead of us past,
"Haul snug your flowing courses!
Lay your topsail to the mast!"
Those Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs
From the deck of their covered ark
And we answered back by a solid broadside
From the deck of our patriot bark.

"Out booms! Out booms!" our skipper cried,
"Out booms! and give her sheet,"
And the swiftest keel that ever was launched
Shot ahead of the British fleet,
And a-midst a thundering shower of shot
With the stun'-sails hoisting away,
Down the North Channel Paul Jones did steer
Just at the break of day.