dots-menu
×

William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.

Yankee Jack

WHEN Jack was on the giddy mast,

And lightning danced along the shrouds;

When every moment seem’d the last,

And death frown’d threatening from the clouds;

Jack cast a tearful eye around,

And thought upon his native valley;

And mid the pealing thunder’s sound,

His voice was heard, “Farewell, my Sally.”

The storm soon ceased; the winds were hush’d,

The mirth-inspiring can was quaff’d,

Jack for his former terrors blush’d,

And at the recent danger laugh’d.

A soft emotion in his breast

Still brought to mind his native valley,

And ere his lips the bumper press’d,

He, smiling, toasted lovely Sally.

When war’s red pennant raised on high

Appear’d the signal for attack,

New courage beam’d from every eye,

But not a soul more bold than Jack:

A fervent prayer to heaven he sigh’d

For blessings on his native valley;

“I care not for my fate,” he cried,

“But if I fall, O bless my Sally.”

His guardian angel heard the prayer,

And wept that it was breathed so late;

For at that moment, from afar,

Flew the shrill whistling ball of fate.

Jack wounded fell, and fainting cried,

“Farewell, my dear, my native valley,”

And as life’s current ebb’d, he sigh’d,

“Farewell forever, lovely Sally.”