62 



THE SEA-SON'S DITTY. 



The sons of the tame Earth, 



Pale children of care ! 

 Sneering, ask me what sea-mirth 



Can with their's compare ? 

 Blind hats he Earth's ninnies! 



Dull clods he they all ! 

 Whose joy hut akin is 



To insects that crawl. 

 Their mirth is mere prattle ; 



Their joy but a laugh. 

 Which a straw may occasion — 

 A stupid oration — 

 A nincompoop's hluster — 



Or queer epitaph : 

 Vile Earthling ! I scorn thee. 



Vain hooby ! does music 



Possess thy weak mind ? 

 Can Earth boast such air 



As the mighty Sea- Wind ? 

 When ensconced in the womb 



Of the big-swelling sail. 

 With high-sounding revel 



He pipes in the gale ! 

 Ay, ay ! well may Ocean 



Bound high in his glee. 

 For music more thrilling 

 Dull Earth has no skill in. 

 Nor aught can compare, 



Mighty Sea- Wind ! with thee : 

 Von Weber ! I scorn thee. 



