A Nautical Ballad

A CAPITAL ship for an ocean trip

    Was The Walloping Window-blind --

No gale that blew dismayed her crew

    Or troubled the captain's mind.

The man at the wheel was taught to feel

    Contempt for the wildest blow,

And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,

    That he'd been in his bunk below.

The boatswain's mate was very sedate,

    Yet fond of amusement, too;

And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,

    While the captain tickled the crew.

And the gunner we had was apparently mad,

    For he sat on the after-rail,

And fired salutes with the captain's boots,

    In the teeth of the booming gale.

The captain sat in a commodore's hat

    And dined, in a royal way,

On toasted pigs and pickles and figs

    And gummery bread, each day.

But the cook was Dutch, and behaved as such;

    For the food that he gave the crew

Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns,

    Chopped up with sugar and glue.

And we all felt ill as mariners will,

    On a diet that's cheap and rude;

And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook

    In a tub of his gluesome food.

Then nautical pride we laid aside,

    And we cast the vessel ashore

On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,

    And the Anagazanders roar.

Composed of sand was that favored land,

    And trimmed with cinnamon straws;

And pink and blue was the pleasing hue

    Of the Tickletoeteaser's claws.

And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge

    And shot at the whistling bee;

And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats

    As they danced in the sounding sea.

On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark,

    We fed, till we all had grown

Uncommonly shrunk, -- when a Chinese junk

    Came by from the torriby zone.

She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care,

    And we cheerily put to sea;

And we left the crew of the junk to chew

    The bark of the rubagub tree.

Charles Edward Carryl

Robinson Crusoe

THE night was thick and hazy

When the Piccadilly Daisy

Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;

And I think the water drowned 'em,

For they never, never found 'em,

And I know they didn't come ashore with me.

Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely

When I found myself the only

Population on this cultivated shore;

But I've made a little tavern

In a rocky little cavern,

And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking

For a girl to do my cooking,

As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;

But I had that fellow Friday

Just to keep the tavern tidy,

And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden

That I'm cultivating lard in,

As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;

For I live on toasted lizards,

Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards,

And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie.

The clothes I had were furry,

And it made me fret and worry

When I found the moths were eating off the hair;

And I had to scrape and sand 'em,

And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,

Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.

I sometimes seek diversion

In a family excursion

With the few domestic animals you see;

And we take along a carrot

As refreshments for the parrot,

And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel

Bits of moss and dirty gravel,

And we chip off little specimens of stone;

And we carry home as prizes

Funny bugs of handy sizes,

Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy

We remain at home and study,--

For the Goat is very clever at a sum,--

And the Dog, instead of fighting,

Studies ornamental writing,

While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,

And we rise again at seven;

And I wish to call attention as I close,

To the fact that all the scholars

Are correct about their collars,

And particular in turning out their toes.

Charles Edward Carryl