94
THE LAST BUCCANEER.
viii.
And now I'm old and going—I'm sure I can't tell where;
One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:
If I might be but a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,
To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.
And now I'm old and going—I'm sure I can't tell where;
One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:
If I might be but a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,
To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.
