SONG OF THE WESTERN STEAMBOAT-MEN.
Reading edition
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.[A]
I.
Ye mariners who sail the seas, I'm told you've made the boast, Of all who go upon the waves You hold yourselves the toast; But list to me, ye mariners, As bounding on ye go, A-cracking up your merry ship, And your wild yo! heave ho!
II.
I'll not deny, ye mariners, It is a joyous thing To see ye dashing on your way, Like bird upon the wing; Ye wave a farewell hand to home, And then away ye sweep, To where the blue sky rests upon The bosom of the deep.
III.
But mariners—but mariners, When loud the storm doth blow, Ye have a toilsome time, my boys, With your wild yo! heave ho! And when at last the calm comes on, And ye swing upon the sea, Sad, sad are then your thoughts of home, And sadder they will be.
IV.
Oh! how ye at the sweepers tug, And how ye have to tow; And faint and weary comes the cry Then of your yo! heave ho! Ye say ye hate to hear our noise, Our puffing and our buzz; But don't forget, ye mariners, That 'pretty is that does!'
V.
Blow high or low, ye mariners, 'Tis all the same to us; The storm may blow its last breath out, What care we for the fuss? And I've not told of shipwrecks, boys, Upon the stormy main; The long-boat swamped, and the wild crew Who'll ne'er see land again.
VI.
To be rowed up a great salt sea, Beats rowing up Salt River; And where we'd strike a snag and land, Why, you'd be gone forever! We go ahead so steadily, And never give a lurch, Ye'd take us for a hide-bound chap A-hurrying to church.
VII.
But though we puff as stately, boys, As any Dutchman smokes, We eat the best, and drink the best, And crack the best of jokes. Why mariners, ye're months away, On hard junk-beef ye feed, While we have turkey, toast and tea, And every thing we need!
VIII.
In every port ye boast there's one To spend the cash ye give her; Why, we have sweet-hearts, mariners, On both sides of the river! We ask not for the starry lights To cheer us on our way; We've eyes that flash from every wood The clearest kind of ray!
IX.
There's Sal, she peeps from Cypress-Swamp, And Bet from Buckeye-Beach; And we've a passing word for both, And a sly kiss for each. I'm told you say, 'cause boilers burst, Uncertain is our breath; To die by bursted boilers, boys, Is just our nat'ral death!
X.
And don't ye die in calm and storm, And don't ye die in slaughter? And don't they wrap you in a sheet, And chuck you in the water? You're food for fishes, mariners! Ha! ha! your faces fall! Well, here's a health, my boys, to each, And a long life to all.
XI.
Broad, broad lands are between us, boys, But our rivers seek the sea, And by them, in our merriment, We send good luck to ye: Good luck to ye, brave mariners! And mind, my boys, whenever Ye weary of your ocean life, Ye're welcome on the river!