Classic Poem

We court no gale with wooing sail,
We fear no squall a-brewing;
Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff,
Alike our course pursuing.
For what to us are winds, when thus
Our merry boat is flying,
While, bold and free, with jocund glee,
Stout hearts her oars are plying!

At twilight dun, when red the sun
Far o'er the water flashes,
With buoyant song, our bark along
His crimson pathway dashes;
And when the night devours the light,
And shadows thicken o'er us,
The stars steal out, the skies about,
To dance to our bold chorus.

Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar,
While beauty's sleep invading,
To watch the beam through her casement gleam,
As she wakes to our serenading;
Then, with the tide, we floating glide
To music soft, receding,
Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up,
For whom these notes are pleading.

Thus, on and on, till the night is gone
And the garish dawn is breaking;
While landsmen sleep, we boatmen keep
The soul of frolic waking;
And though cheerless then our craft look, when
To her moorings day hath brought her,
By the moon amain she is launch'd again,
To dance o'er the merry water.