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He suns his limbs upon the deck,
He hears the music of the ocean;
He lives not on another's beck,
He pines not after court promotion.
He is unto himself—he is
A little world within another;
And furthermore he knoweth this,
That all mankind to him is brother.
He sings his songs and smokes his weed,
He spins his yarn of monstrous fables,
He cracks his biscuit, and at need
Can soundly sleep on coiled-up cables.
Although the sea be sometimes rough,
His bark is stout, its rudder steady,
At other whiles 'tis calm enough,
And buxom as a gentle lady.
In sooth, too, 'tis a pleasant thing,
To sail and feel the sea-breeze blowing
About one's cheek—oh! such doth bring
Full many a free-born thought and glowing.
