Here's an interesting old sea ballad that I came across that I'd like to know more about. Stevens and Leveridge are apparently Irish collaborators who produced several songs in the late 18th century.

The song itself is a tribute to the power of the sea and the sailors who didn't give up when it appeared that all was lost!

THE STORM

(Words by G. A. Stevens; music by Leveridge, circa late 18th century,
from DIBDIN'S SEA SONGS, 1854, pp. 278-280)

Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer!
List, ye landsmen, all to me;
Messmates, hear a brother sailor
Sing the dangers of the sea;
From bounding billows first in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean,
Where the seas contend with skies.

Hark! The boatswain hoarsely bawling,
By topsai-sheets and haulyards stand,
Down top gallants, quick by hauling,
Down your staysails, hand boys, hand!
Now it freshens, set the braces,
The lee topsail-sheets let go;
Luff, boys, luff! Don't make wry faces,
Up your topsails nimbly clew.

Now all you, on down beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms,
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
Safe from all but love's alarms;
Round us roars the tempest louder,
Think what fears our minds entral;
Harder yet, it yet blows harder;
Hark! Again the boatswain's call!

The topsail-yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
Let the foresheet go, don't mind, boys,
Though the weather should prove worse;
Fore and aft the spritsail-yard get,
Reef the mizzen, see all clear,
Hands up, each preventer-brace set,
Man the foreyards! Cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder rolling,
Peal on peal, contending, clash;
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
In our eyes blue lightning flash:
One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky,
Different deaths at once surround us, –
Hark! What means that dreadful cry?

The foremast's gone! Cries every tongue out,
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck;
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out, –
Call all hands to clear the wreck;
Quick! The lanyards cut to pieces;
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold!
Plumb the well, the leak increases,
Four feet water in the hold!

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating;
Alas! from hence there's no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us,
Both chain-pumps are chok'd below;
Heav'n have mercy here upon us!
For only that can save us now.

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys!
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pump come every hand, boys!
See, our mizzen-mast is gone!
The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast;
We've lightened her a foot or more;
Up and rig a jury foremast, –
She rights! She rights, boys! We're off shore!

Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Fortune saved our lives;
Come, the can, boys! Let's be drinking
To our sweethearts and our wives:
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,
Close to the lips a brimmer join, –
Where's the tempest now? Who feel it?
None! Our danger's drown'd in wine.

And, no, I haven't a clue what the tune was.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble