But suddenly the wind dropped dead.
And a calm came over the sea,
And a terrible rumour got abroad
It was time to go home to tea.
We whistled loud, we whistled long,
The whole of that afternoon;
But there wasn't wind enough to float
A twopenny pink balloon.
And the other chaps upon the bank
Looked anxiously out to sea;
For their sweethearts and sisters were going home,
And they feared for the cake at tea.
. . . . . . .
It was the schooner Kensington
Came in at dead of night
With many another gallant ship
And one unlucky kite.
The keeper found them at break of day,
And locked them up quite dry
In his little green hut, with a notice that
On Monday we must apply.
So on Sunday after church we went
To stare at them through the door;
And we saw the schooner Kensington
Keel upwards on the floor.
But though we stood on the tips of our toes,
And craned our necks to see,
We could not spot the wooden-legged crew
Or the Royal Artillery.
THEY say that country children have
Most fierce adventures every night,
With owls and bats and giant moths
That flutter to the candle-light.