THE SPANISH SAILOR’ S SONG

If you’ re sleeping, my dear,

Wake and open to me!

For the hour is at hand

When afar we must flee.

If your white feet are bare

Still no longer delay;

For deep are the waters

Which roll in our way.

The waters so deep

Of the Guadalquivír;

The hour is at hand,

We must wander, my dear.

’ Tis strange, he added, how our land, in truth,

As it goes Southward seems to turn to youth,

And with a softer sun all words are sung —

As things are warmed — into the Spanish tongue:

I’ ve given you a song, let’ s have another;

“Well, I know one,” I said, “which seems its brother,

Although, compared to yours, it’ s nearer zero,

In Spanish, Digas tu el marinero!”