From “The British Fleet”
DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night’s cheerless noon,
On tower, or fort, or tented ground
The sentry walks his lonely round;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,
“Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!”
“A friend!” “The word?” “Good-night;” all ’s well...
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Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say,
If ever I lived upon dry land,
The spot I should hit on would be little Britain!
Says Freedom, “Why, that ’s my own island!”
O, it ’s a snug little island!
A right little, tight little island!
Search the globe round, none can be found
So happy as this little island....