"No, I wont sing it," answered Harding, "for it is a sad sort of song, and that wont do when I am so happy."
"Oh, I like sad songs!" said the girl; "they please me far more than all the merry ones."
"Oh, pray sing it, Harding!" urged the widow; "I am very fond of a song that makes me cry."
"This wont do that," replied the smuggler; "but it is sadder than some that do, I always think. However, I'll sing it, if you like;" and in a fine, mellow, bass voice, to a very simple air, with a flattened third coming in every now and then, like the note of a wintry bird, he went on:--
SONG.
"Life's like a boat,
Rowing--rowing
Over a bright sea,
On the waves to float,
Flowing--flowing
Away from her lea.