[Founded Upon A Well-Known Tale From The Pen Of The Late William Leggett, Esq.] Old Ironsides At Anchor Lay, In The Harbor Of Mahon; A Dead Calm Rested On The Bay-- The Waves To Sleep Had Gone; When Little Jack, The Captain'S Son, With Gallant Hardihood, Climbed Shroud And Spar--And Then Upon The Main-Truck Rose And Stood! A Shudder Ran Through Every Vein-- All Eyes Were Turned On High! There Stood The Boy, With Dizzy Brain, Between The Sea And Sky! No Hold Had He Above--Below, Alone He Stood In Air! At That Far Height None Dared To Go-- No Aid Could Reach Him There. We Gazed--But Not A Man Could Speak!-- With Horror All Aghast In Groups, With Pallid Brow And Cheek, We Watched The Quivering Mast. The Atmosphere Grew Thick And Hot, And Of A Lurid Hue, As, Riveted Unto The Spot, Stood Officers And Crew. The Father Came On Deck--He Gasped, "O, God, Thy Will Be Done!" Then Suddenly A Rifle Grasped, And Aimed It At His Son! "Jump Far Out, Boy! Into The Wave! Jump, Or I Fire!" He Said: "That Only Chance Your Life Can Save! Jump--Jump, Boy!"--He Obeyed. He Sank--He Rose--He Lived--He Moved-- He For The Ship Struck Out! On Board We Hailed The Lad Beloved With Many A Manly Shout. His Father Drew, In Silent Joy, Those Wet Arms Round His Neck, Then Folded To His Heart The Boy And Fainted On The Deck!