The hills that saw the Spartan brave
Comb their long hair for death.
CRUSOE WAS A VAGABOND
Wise men pray for hearth and home, a comely wife to tend them,
And dread to feed the little folks that clamber on their knee;
Their fathers' fields to plough and sow—their old friends to befriend them,
But Crusoe was a vagabond, and ran away to sea.
He strayed upon the docks of Hull, and smelt the tar and cordage,
He saw the bales of foreign ware piled high upon the quay,