Four, only four did he say Saved! and the other ones? Eh? Why do they call? Why are they all They ran through the streets of the sea-port town: "Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden! Good cause for fear! In the thick mid-day Drifted clear beyond reach or call, Thirteen children they were in all, Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all! And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. The fog drove down on each labouring crew, And they felt the breath of the downs fresh blown But not from the lips that had gone before. They come no more. But they tell the tale, For the signal they know will bring relief: It is but a foolish shipman's tale, A theme for a poet's idle page; But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, JOHN HAY. b 1838). THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. The King was sick. His cheek was red, But he said he was sick, and a king should know, Thy did not cure him. He cut off their heads, At last two famous doctors came, And one was as poor as a rat, The other had never looked in a book; Together they looked at the royal tongue, The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." "Hang him up," roared the King in a gale In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; The other leech grew a shade pale; But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, The King will be well, if he sleeps one night Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, And fast their horses ran, And many they saw, and to many they spoke, They found poor men who would fain be rich, They saw two men by the road side sit, For one had buried his wife, he said, At last they came to a village gate, He whistled, and sang, and laughed, and rolled The weary courtiers paused and looked At the scamp so blithe and gay; And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend! You seem to be happy to-day." "O yes, fair Sirs," the rascal laughed, And his voice rang free and glad; "An idle man has so much to do That he never has time to be sad." |