Nor sent you word, nor made you sign
To say he was alive!”
“Hold! if ’twas wrong, the wrong is mine;
Besides, he may be in the brine,
And could he write from the grave?
Tut, man, what would you have?”
Gone twenty years—a long, long cruise,—
’Twas wicked thus your love to abuse;
But if the lad still live,
And come back home, think you can