A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died—
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads,
With a stake in his inside!
THE SEA-SPELL.
“Cauld, cauld, he lies beneath the deep.”
Old Scotch Ballad.
I.
T was a jolly mariner!
The tallest man of three,—
He loosed his sail against the wind,
And turned his boat to sea:
The ink-black sky told every eye,
A storm was soon to be!
II.
But still that jolly mariner
Took in no reef at all,
For, in his pouch, confidingly,
He wore a baby’s caul;
A thing, as gossip-nurses know,
That always brings a squall!