Such as I’ve seen, fished from the ocean’s slime,
Such are these men and melodies—alas!
They all are of an age half past away.
Where is the boatswain now?—who hears his call?
And where these sailing packets once so gay?
I to myself do seem traditional
And all my youth a legend—so to say—
Yet well or ill I’ve done the best I could
To make in truthful song a little show
Of quaint old tales, now little understood,