Classic Poem

(A Nautical Poem.)

We dreamed of a gallant fleet erstwhile,
And already, with hope to lead us,
On a sea unfurrowed had set our sail,
With a favouring wind to speed us.

To our frigates we gave such names of dread
As must strike the foe with pallor:
Hoffmann von Fallersleben and Prutz —
Resounding names of valour.

The cutter Freiligrath was there;
Her figure-head was a meet one:
The Moorish king, like an ebony moon,
Was carved on the prow to greet one.

And Gustav Schwab went sailing along,
With Pfizer, and Kolle and Mayer ;
Each bearing the form of a Swabian bold,
Who strummed on a wooden lyre.

The brig Birch-Pfeiffer flew from her mast
The famous ensign olden
Of the Admiralty; it flaunted free
Its tatters red-black-golden.

In jackets short, and in tarry hats,
We swarmed up the bowsprit, which is
The right sort of thing for a sailor to do,
And we sported nautical breeches.

And many a decent married man,
Who had drunk but tea, grown haler,
Now chewed his tobacco and swallowed his rum,
And swore like a true-bred sailor.

On the good old fire-ship's ancient deck —
On the Fallersleben — many,
When the wind piped up, were as sick as dogs,
But none of them cared a penny.

So sweet was the dream, we had almost won
A naval battle glorious —
When the sun of the morning chased away
Both fleet and dream victorious.

And there we lay in our beds at home,
Our bones stretched out at the dawning;
And, rubbing the sleep from our drowsy eyes,
We muttered, lazily yawning,

" The world is round: what boots it, then,
To sail on the idle billow!
You come at last to the spot you left:
To the selfsame home and pillow. "