IN THE BAY
The schooner swells its sails for the far-off seas, The steamer pounds proudly far away, But I'd sooner be ascudding in a ten-knot breeze In my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
The schooner sings the wind's song from Bristol to Brazil, The steamer knows the whole World's way, But I can see a cottage on a windy hill From my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
The schooner's up to hatches with her pig-iron, coal, and mud, The steamer, plugged with cargo, heaves away, But I can whiffle mackerel as through the waves I scud In my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
O! living in a schooner is like living in a tree, And a steamer's like a big hotel to-day, If I had my choice of sailing, I know I'd soonest be In my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
SEA-FOAM
The once-flashed beauty borne on a breaking wave Dies to a requiem sung on the sounding shore; Beyond all reach of mortal power to save In spray-crowned glory it passes for evermore.
Would that the heart could capture and hold and keep The glory of beauty, sped in a moment's space! Could fix for ever the splendour and strength and sweep Of the wind-wild wave, in its riotous rapturous race!