His words were truth's.—Some forty summers fled;
His brethren died; his kin supposed him dead:
Three nephews these, one sprightly niece, and one,
740
Less near in blood—they call'd him surly John;
He work'd in woods apart from all his kind.
Fierce were his looks and moody was his mind.
For home the Sailor now began to sigh:—
"The dogs are dead, and I'll return and die;
When all I have, my gains, in years of care,