He heard the seamen singing, and the outbound ship-bells ringing
Across the fog and darkness;—and he ran away to sea.
He might have dwelt by barn and dyke our fathers made before us,
And dipped his fat sheep yearly in the burn that turns the mill;
He might have heard the harvest home go up in lusty chorus,
When the last wain comes lumbering across the moonlit hill.
But he heard the loud surf thundering against the harbour wall,
The brown be-earringed sailor-men all swearing on the quay;
The salt was in his nostrils, and he cared no more at all
For barn or byre or cattle; but he ran away to sea.