THE NAUTICAL RENDEZVOUS

The ship preparing for the main

Enlists a wild, but gallant train,

Who in a moving jail would roam

Disgusted with the world at home.

They quit the fields and quit the trees

To seek their bread on stormy seas;

Perhaps to see the land no more,

Or see, but not enjoy the shore.

There must be some as this world goes

Who every joy and pleasure lose,

And round the world at random stray

To gain their bread the shortest way.

They hate the ax, they hate the hoe

And execrate the rural plough,

The mossy bank, the sylvan shade

Where once they wrought, where once they play'd:

Prefer a boisterous, mad career,

A broken leg, and wounds severe,

To all the joys that can be found

On mountain top or furrow'd ground.

A hammock holds them when they sleep;

A tomb, when dying, in the deep,

A crowded deck, a cann of beer

These sons of Amphitrite prefer

To all the verdure of the fields

Or all a quiet pillow yields.

There must be such a nervous race,

Who venture all, and no disgrace;

Who will support through every blast,

The shatter'd ship, the falling mast —

Who will support through every sea

The sacred cause of liberty,

And every foe to ruin drag

Who aims to strike the gallic flag.