We must wander, my dear.[[7]]
’Tis strange, he added, how our land, in truth,
As it goes Southward seems to turn to youth,
And with a softer sun all words are sung—
As things are warmed—into the Spanish tongue:
I’ve given you a song, let’s have another;
“Well, I know one,” I said, “which seems its brother,
Although, compared to yours, it’s nearer zero,
In Spanish, Digas tu el marinero!”