On the Erie Canal, it was,

All on a summer’s day,

I

sailed forth with my parents

Far away to Albany.

From out the clouds at noon that day

There came a dreadful storm,

That piled the billows high about,

And filled us with alarm.

A man came rushing from a house,

Saying, ‘Snub up your boat I

pray,

[The customary canal technicality for “tie up.”]

Snub up your boat, snub up, alas,

Snub up while yet you may.’

Our captain cast one glance astern,

Then forward glancèd he,

And said, “My wife and little ones

I never more shall see.”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

In noble words, but few,—

“Fear not, but lean on Dollinger,

And he will fetch you

through.”

The boat drove on, the frightened mules

Tore through the rain and

wind,

And bravely still, in danger’s post,

The whip-boy

strode behind.

“Come ’board, come ’board,” the captain cried,

“Nor tempt so wild a storm;”

But still the raging mules

advanced,

And still the boy strode on.

Then said the captain to us all,

“Alas, ’tis plain to

me,

The greater danger is not there,

But here upon the sea.

“So let us strive, while life remains,

To save all souls on

board,

And then if die at last we must,

Let .  .  .

.  I cannot speak the word!”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

Tow’ring above the crew,

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

And he will fetch you

through.”

“Low bridge!  low bridge!” all heads went down,

The laboring bark sped on;

A mill we passed, we passed church,

Hamlets, and fields of corn;

And all the world came out to see,

And chased along the shore

Crying, “Alas, alas, the sheeted

rain,

The wind, the tempest’s roar!

Alas, the gallant

ship and crew,

Can nothing help them more?”

And from our deck sad eyes looked out

Across the stormy scene:

The tossing wake of billows aft,

The bending forests green,

The chickens sheltered under carts

In lee of barn the cows,

The skurrying swine with straw in mouth,

The wild spray from our

bows!

“She balances!

She wavers!

Now let her go about!

If

she misses stays and broaches to,

We’re all”—then with a

shout,

“Huray!  huray!

Avast!  belay!

Take in more sail!

Lord, what a gale!

Ho, boy, haul taut on

the hind mule’s tail!”

“Ho!  lighten ship!  ho!  man the pump!

Ho,

hostler, heave the lead!”

“A quarter-three!—’tis shoaling fast!

Three feet

large!—t-h-r-e-e feet!—

Three feet scant!” I cried in

fright

“Oh, is there no retreat?”

Said Dollinger, the pilot man,

As on the vessel flew,

“Fear

not, but trust in Dollinger,

And he will fetch you through.”

A panic struck the bravest hearts,

The boldest cheek turned pale;

For plain to all, this shoaling said

A leak had burst the ditch’s

bed!

And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped,

Our ship swept

on, with shoaling lead,

Before the fearful gale!

“Sever the tow-line!  Cripple the mules!”

Too

late!  There comes a shock!

Another length, and the fated

craft

Would have swum in the saving lock!

Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew

And took one last

embrace,

While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes

Ran down

each hopeless face;

And some did think of their little ones

Whom they never more might see,

And others of waiting wives at

home,

And mothers that grieved would be.

But of all the children of misery there

On that poor sinking frame,

But one spake words of hope and faith,

And I worshipped as they

came:

Said Dollinger the pilot man,—

(O brave heart, strong

and true!)—

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

For he

will fetch you through.”

Lo!  scarce the words have passed his lips

The dauntless

prophet say’th,

When every soul about him seeth

A wonder

crown his faith!

“And count ye all, both great and small,

As numbered with the

dead:

For mariner for forty year,

On Erie, boy and man,

I

never yet saw such a storm,

Or one’t with it began!”

So overboard a keg of nails

And anvils three we threw,

Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks,

Two hundred pounds of glue,

Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat,

A box of books, a cow,

A

violin, Lord Byron’s works,

A rip-saw and a sow.

A curve!  a curve!  the dangers grow!

“Labbord!—stabbord!—s-t-e-a-d-y!—so!—

Hard-a-port, Dol!—hellum-a-lee!

Haw the head mule!—the aft one

gee!

Luff!—bring her to the wind!”

For straight a farmer brought a plank,—

(Mysteriously inspired)—

And laying it unto the ship,

In silent awe retired.

Then every sufferer stood amazed

That pilot man before;

A

moment stood.  Then wondering turned,

And speechless walked

ashore.