POETRY.
BILL THE DREAMER.
"Sums day when I'm rich (said Bill) I'm going to leave the sea; Sail and steam alike shall see the living last of me, And 'bout ship or heave her to, they'll rouse me out no more In a clean quiet cottage like I've often seen ashore, With hen-and-chickens daisies growing by the door.
Quiet will the days come and easy will they go, Smoking of my pipe there and working with a hoe, And thinking of poor mates o' mine toiling in the cold, That hadn't sense to leave it and they growing old.
For when all's said and done, lads, it's little short of sin To spend your money foolish that's bitter bard to win. I'll save ray pay a year or two, and then I'll sail no more, Sitting down an easy in my little place ashore."
And no went his yarn on, and so would he say— Round the Horn with hurricanes blowing all the way, All the way from Callao trudging home again To the Bar light shining in the wind and rain.
And who's to keep from share and share with friends o the hest?
And girls along the waterfront they'll help to spend the rest; And the cottage and the garden and the daisies at the door They went the way of many dreams when sailors come to shore.
And he's rolling down to Rio with a drunken Dago crew And the deadheads ander hatches till they've got their groaning through; Yes, he's rolling down to Rio . . . as he's often done before, And will do till the day comes for Bill to sail no more, When the ninth wave, the last wave, shall bring him to shore.
C. Fox SMITU.
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