He blows the fresh wind plump into our sails.
Landsmen who live on the dull, tame shore,
Love their homes, but ours we love more:
Oh! a ship and salt water, messmates, for me—
There’s nothing on earth like the open sea.
Landsmen are green boys, I have a notion
They don’t know the fun that’s had on the ocean;
But contented they live in one spot all their lives,
Like honey bees, messmates, they stick to their hives.
What though we have storms? They’ve earthquakes on shore,