V.
Blow high or low, ye mariners,
'Tis all the same to us;
The storm may blow its last breath out,
What care we for the fuss?
And I've not told of shipwrecks, boys,
Upon the stormy main;
The long-boat swamped, and the wild crew
Who'll ne'er see land again.
VI.
To be rowed up a great salt sea,
Beats rowing up Salt River;
And where we'd strike a snag and land,
Why, you'd be gone forever!
We go ahead so steadily,
And never give a lurch,
Ye'd take us for a hide-bound chap
A-hurrying to church.
VII.
But though we puff as stately, boys,
As any Dutchman smokes,
We eat the best, and drink the best,
And crack the best of jokes.
Why mariners, ye're months away,
On hard junk-beef ye feed,
While we have turkey, toast and tea,
And every thing we need!
VIII.
In every port ye boast there's one
To spend the cash ye give her;
Why, we have sweet-hearts, mariners,
On both sides of the river!
We ask not for the starry lights
To cheer us on our way;
We've eyes that flash from every wood
The clearest kind of ray!
IX.
There's Sal, she peeps from Cypress-Swamp,
And Bet from Buckeye-Beach;
And we've a passing word for both,
And a sly kiss for each.
I'm told you say, 'cause boilers burst,
Uncertain is our breath;
To die by bursted boilers, boys,
Is just our nat'ral death!