For the anchor's at the cat-head and the voyage is begun,
The wind is in the mainsail, we're slipping from the land
Hull-down with all sail making, close-hauled with the white-tops breaking,
Bound for the Rio Grande.
Fare ye well!
With the flying-fish around us and a porpoise school before us,
Full crowded under royals to the south'ard we would sweep;
We would hear the bull whales blowing and the mermaids sing in chorus,
And perhaps the white seal mummies hum their chubby calves to sleep.
We would see the hot towns paddling in the surf of Spanish waters,