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I know him well; the master he
Of a small bark—an Irish coaster;
His heart is like the ocean, free,
And like the breeze his tongue's a boaster.
He is a father, too, I'm told,
Of children ten, and some say twenty;
But it's no matter, he's grown old,
And, ten or more, he has got plenty!
List! now he sings a burly stave
Of waves and winds, and shipwrecks many,
Of flying fish and dolphins brave,
Of mermaids lovely but uncanny.
Right oft, I ween, he joys to speak
Of slim maids in the green waves dancing,
Or singing in some lonesome creek,
While kembing locks like sunbeams glancing.
Oh, he hath tales of wondrous things
Spied in the vast and gousty ocean;
Of monstrous fish whose giant springs
Give to the seas their rocking motion;
