It blew great guns when Sammy Snooks
Mounted the rolling paddles;
He met the mate with fearful looks--
They shook each other's daddles.
The word was given to let go,
The funnel gave a screamer,
The stoker whistled from below,
And off she goes, blow high, blow low,
The Atalanta steamer.
His native Hungerford he leaves,
His Poll of Pedlar's Acre,
Who now ashore in silence grieves
Because he did not take her.
There's a collision fore and aft;
Against the pier they squeeze her.
"Up boys, and save the precious craft,
We from the station shall be chaff'd--
Ho--back her--stop her--ease her."
Aha! the gallant vessel rights,
She goes just where they want her;
She nears at last the Lambeth lights,
The trim-built Atalantar.
Sam Snooks his messmates calls around;
He speaks of Poll and beauty:
When suddenly a grating sound
Tells them the vessel's run aground
While they forgot their duty.
