THE VANISHED SAILORS

Say, sailors, what’s happened to young Bill Jones? Jones of Yarmouth; the bright-cheeked boy? Jones who could handle a boat like a man, Jones, who would grapple a smack like a toy? “Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh. Ahoy!” Well, sea-dogs, where’s Thompson of Yarmouthport dock? The chap who could outwit old Hawkins, they say, The man with th’ knowledge of charts and of reefs, There wasn’t his equal from Prawle to Torquay. “Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh, to-day!” Where’s Rixey of Hampton; Smith of Rexhill? Who’d coasted and traded from London to Ryde, Huggins and Muggins, all seamen of worth, Who could jibe and could sail, sir, when combers were wide? “Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh. Last tide!” Well, seamen, when that day shall come near, When the salt sea is moved from its bed, Some will there be, who can give us the news, Of all that brave band, whom Adventure has led To “Fall o’er the sea-end with Raleigh, ’tis said!”

“Such is the man, Whom neither shape nor danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that worth stands fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From good to better, daily self-surpassed.”