On a journey down to the sea.
He split the ripples, and ript the foam,
And danced and dived in glee.
“Ho, ho!” cried the fry where the sea grew near,
“Hurrah for a fresh-water fool!
One gulp of our salt when he comes out here
Will send him back to his pool.”
The fish was fleet, but the bar was high,
And the low tide roil’d and dim;
And he groped, as he slowly pass’d the fry,