All’s well, and everything goes meet,
The fleecy clouds, in sport above,
Afford an ocean scene so sweet—
It tempers friendship into love.
The decks are wash’d, the breakfast-meal
Is past, the passengers look gay;
Some pace the quarter-deck, and feel
Desirous to prolong their stay.
A few are lounging o’er the poop,
To see the log-line, out or in;