136
THE SEVEN SEAS
'Twas fiddle in the forc's'le—'twas garlands on the mast,
For everyone got married, and I went ashore at last.
I left 'em all in couples a'kissing on the decks.
I left the lovers loving and the parents signing cheques.
In endless English comfort by county-folk caressed,
I left the old three-decker at the Islands of the Blest!
That route is barred to steamers: you'll never lift again
Our purple-painted headlands or the lordly keeps of Spain.
They're just beyond your skyline, howe'er so far you cruise
In a ram-you-damn-you liner with a brace of bucking screws.
