THE MONTH OF OCTOBER IS BAD!
I
The month of October is bad
As the month of September can be;
“Oh, there's not in the wide world” a beau to be had,
Some are shooting, and some are at sea!
A lonely life woman endures,
Deserted for pointers or yachts;
With some at their moorings, and some at the moors,
Mad for cruises or gunpowder plots!
II
Sir Charles leaves his mate hymeneal,
To sail with the mate of his yawl!
Of an amateur sailor the true beau ideal,
Blue shirt, jacket, backy, and all!
Of quicksands hid under the tide
He dreams, as he lies in his berth;
Once he thought of no quicksands, save those wont to glide
Through Time's glass in a season of mirth!
III
His cab for a cabin neglected,
(The gig that he has is a boat!)
The nobleman seaman would blush if detected
In wearing a gentleman's coat!
His books, lest his lingo should fail, are
The maritime novels alone;
Chamier's clever “Life of a Sailor,”
Or Marryat's matchless “King's Own.”
IV
For no prima donna he cares;
He gives up his box and his stall;
And all recollection of Malibran's airs
Is very soon lost in a squall!
“Oh, her form is divine!” he may cry,
But the form that he means is a ship's!
And e'en Taglioni unnoticed trips by,
Superseded by nautical trips!
V
When snug in Cowes harbour he's brave,
And he sings as he paces the deck,
And feeling a mere Lilliputian wave,
He recklessly laughs at a wreck.
But at Cherbourg, when tempests assail,
He wishes he never had sail'd;
And if he should happen to weather the gale,
He'll take care he is never re-galed.
