A SEA SONG.

Old Albion sat on a crag of late.

And sang out — “Ahoy! ahoy!

Long, life to the captain, good luck to the mate.

And this to my sailor boy!

Come over, come home,

Through the salt sea foam,

My sailor, my sailor boy.

“Here's a crown to be given away, I ween,

A crown for my sailor's head,

And all for the worth of a widowed queen,

And the love of the noble dead;

And the fear and fame

Of the island's name

Where my boy was born and bred.

“Content thee, content thee, let it alone,

Thou marked for a choice so rare;

Though treaties be treaties, never a throne

Was proffered for cause as fair.

Yet come to me home,

Through the salt sea foam,

For the Greek must ask elsewhere.

“‘ Tis a pity, my sailor, but who can tell?

Many lands they look to me;

One of these might be wanting a Prince as well,

But that's as hereafter may be.”

She raised her white head

And laughed; and she said

“That's as hereafter may be.”