[SONG OF THE WESTERN STEAMBOAT-MEN.]
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.[A]
I.
Ye mariners who sail the seas,
I'm told you've made the boast,
Of all who go upon the waves
You hold yourselves the toast;
But list to me, ye mariners,
As bounding on ye go,
A-cracking up your merry ship,
And your wild yo! heave ho!
II.
I'll not deny, ye mariners,
It is a joyous thing
To see ye dashing on your way,
Like bird upon the wing;
Ye wave a farewell hand to home,
And then away ye sweep,
To where the blue sky rests upon
The bosom of the deep.
III.
But mariners—but mariners,
When loud the storm doth blow,
Ye have a toilsome time, my boys,
With your wild yo! heave ho!
And when at last the calm comes on,
And ye swing upon the sea,
Sad, sad are then your thoughts of home,
And sadder they will be.
IV.
Oh! how ye at the sweepers tug,
And how ye have to tow;
And faint and weary comes the cry
Then of your yo! heave ho!
Ye say ye hate to hear our noise,
Our puffing and our buzz;
But don't forget, ye mariners,
That 'pretty is that does!'