 | Sea Songs |  |
93
WHY DON'T THEY COME TO SEA?
What do they see, these folks ashore that spend in towns their lives,
Or are tied to farms and fields at home with children and with wives?
Everyday but just the same things each sees until he dies,
With, all life through, one spot of earth unchanged before their eyes;
Each cottage, hedge, and pathway, each brook, and lane so known,
They'll tell the look of every bush, the place of every stone;
How they must bless the seasons and the changes that they bring,
That the Summer browns to Autumn and the Winter greens to Spring!
Like caterpillars on their leaves, from life to death they crawl;
The world of some few country miles, with a trip to town, their all;
Lord! Ned, those sleepy country-folks, what ninnies they must be,
Why don't they leave their bits of land and take a turn at sea?
Or are tied to farms and fields at home with children and with wives?
Everyday but just the same things each sees until he dies,
With, all life through, one spot of earth unchanged before their eyes;
Each cottage, hedge, and pathway, each brook, and lane so known,
They'll tell the look of every bush, the place of every stone;
How they must bless the seasons and the changes that they bring,
That the Summer browns to Autumn and the Winter greens to Spring!
94
The world of some few country miles, with a trip to town, their all;
Lord! Ned, those sleepy country-folks, what ninnies they must be,
Why don't they leave their bits of land and take a turn at sea?
And there's those City swells who live ten miles from town or so,
Their travels are a railway ride, night and morning to and fro;
Why, they're worse off than those stay-at-homes that in the country dwell,
Each to a desk is nailed all day, in an office like a cell;
Or, if they do get out, why, there's the very self-same street
They always see, the self-same stones that daily feel their feet,
The same dull fuss to get the chink each hour they're going through;
Lord! Ned, how we should sicken if we had their work to do!
Mill-horses, now, I do suppose, do get used to their round,
Or else, at such dull work as this, men wouldn't sure be found;
But, Ned, lad, Lord! what ninnies these City swells must be!
Why don't they—hang their offices and take a turn at sea?
Their travels are a railway ride, night and morning to and fro;
Why, they're worse off than those stay-at-homes that in the country dwell,
Each to a desk is nailed all day, in an office like a cell;
Or, if they do get out, why, there's the very self-same street
They always see, the self-same stones that daily feel their feet,
The same dull fuss to get the chink each hour they're going through;
Lord! Ned, how we should sicken if we had their work to do!
Mill-horses, now, I do suppose, do get used to their round,
95
But, Ned, lad, Lord! what ninnies these City swells must be!
Why don't they—hang their offices and take a turn at sea?
Slugs love a foot of garden-ground; sea-leagues your swallows fly;
Well, as we're free to roam the world, let's box about, say I;
North and south, and east and west, all ways, I've cruised it, round and round,
With always something fresh to see, wherever I was bound;
What sights it has of shores and seas as round the world you roll!
What lazy calms upon the line—what ice-floes at the Pole!
Why, as from port to port you trade, no cruise but brings its change;
No land or clime but shows your eyes some queer things new and strange;
Men, women, savages, and such, and unknown seas and skies;
Odd fish you see down ocean, then some new bird past you flies;
Oh! Ned, with all these sights to see, what ninnies they must be
That die and never glimpse the world! why don't they come to sea?
Well, as we're free to roam the world, let's box about, say I;
North and south, and east and west, all ways, I've cruised it, round and round,
With always something fresh to see, wherever I was bound;
What sights it has of shores and seas as round the world you roll!
What lazy calms upon the line—what ice-floes at the Pole!
Why, as from port to port you trade, no cruise but brings its change;
No land or clime but shows your eyes some queer things new and strange;
Men, women, savages, and such, and unknown seas and skies;
Odd fish you see down ocean, then some new bird past you flies;
96
That die and never glimpse the world! why don't they come to sea?
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