A SEA DIRGE.

There are certain things — as, a spider, a ghost,

The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three —

That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most

Is a thing they call the Sea.

Pour some salt water over the floor —

Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be:

Suppose it extended a mile or more,

That's very like the Sea.

Beat a dog till it howls outright —

Cruel, but all very well for a spree:

Suppose that he did so day and night,

That would be like the Sea.

I had a vision of nursery-maids;

Tens of thousands passed by me —

All leading children with wooden spades,

And this was by the Sea.

Who invented those spades of wood?

Who was it cut them out of the tree?

None, I think, but an idiot could —

Or one that loved the Sea.

It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float

With‘ thoughts as boundless, and souls as free':

But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,

How do you like the Sea?

There is an insect that people avoid

( Whence is derived the verb‘ to flee’ ).

Where have you been by it most annoyed?

In lodgings by the Sea.

If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,

A decided hint of salt in your tea,

And a fishy taste in the very eggs —

By all means choose the Sea.

And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,

You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,

And a chronic state of wet in your feet,

Then — I recommend the Sea.

For I have friends who dwell by the coast —

Pleasant friends they are to me!

It is when I am with them I wonder most

That any one likes the Sea.

They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,

To climb the heights I madly agree;

And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,

They kindly suggest the Sea.

I try the rocks, and I think it cool

That they laugh with such an excess of glee,

As I heavily slip into every pool

That skirts the cold cold Sea.