He sang us many a merry song Overboard! Overboard! Under the wave Let him sing where smooth shells ring In the ocean's cave. He may struggle, he may weep, We'll be stern and cold; His grief will find, within the deep, More tears than can be told. He has gone overboard! We will float on; We shall find a truer wind Now that he is gone. AN INVITATION TELL me, pretty one, where will you sail? How shall our bark be steered, I pray? Breezes flutter each silken veil, Tell me where will you go to-day? My vessel's helm is of ivory white, The sails are made of the wings of a dove, love, Blithe and bold. Where shall we sail? 'Mid the Baltic's foam? Or over the broad Pacific roam? Don't refuse! |