. Salt-water poems and ballads. k,He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sackTo sleep on, when his watch was through, — So he did. <y SEA-CHANGE ? ? i GoNEYS an gullies an all o the birds o the sea, They aint no birds, not really, said Billy the Dane. Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all, said he, But simply the sperrits of mariners livin again. Them birds goin fishin is nothin but souls o thedrowned,Souls o the drowned an the kicked as are never nomore;An that there haughty old albatross cruisin around,Belike hes Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. An merrys the life they are l
. Salt-water poems and ballads. k,He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sackTo sleep on, when his watch was through, — So he did. <y SEA-CHANGE ? ? i GoNEYS an gullies an all o the birds o the sea, They aint no birds, not really, said Billy the Dane. Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all, said he, But simply the sperrits of mariners livin again. Them birds goin fishin is nothin but souls o thedrowned,Souls o the drowned an the kicked as are never nomore;An that there haughty old albatross cruisin around,Belike hes Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. An merrys the life they are living. They settle fishes, they never stands watches, they waggletheir wings;When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the shipTo see how the nowaday mariners manages things. When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish —(Though maybe it aint like a Christian) — I wish Icould be A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fishAnd coming the proud over all o the birds o the sea. 26 SEA-CHANGE 27. * Goneys an* gullies an* all o the birds o* the sea, They ain*t no birds, not really, said Billy the Dane. Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,* said he, But simply the sperrits of mariners livin* again. *Them birds goin fishin* is nothin* but souls o* the drowned,Souls o* the drowned an* the kicked as are never no more ;An* that there haughty old albatross cruisin* he*8 Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. HARBOUR BAR All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech,The white line of the running surf goes booming down the beach,But I shall never see them, though the land lies close aboard,Ive shaped the last long silent tack as takes one to the Lord. Give me the Scripters, Jakey, n my pipe atween my lips,Im bound for somewhere south and far beyond the track of ships;Ive run my rags of colours up and clinched them to the stay,And God the pilots come aboard to bring me up the bay. Youll mainsail-haul my bits o things when
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Keywords: ., bookauthormasefiel, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1916
