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94 |
SEA SONGS. |
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Like caterpillars on their leaves, from life to death
they crawl; The world of some few country miles, with a trip to
town, their all; Lord! Ned, "those sleepy country-folks, what ninnies
they must be, Why don't they leave their bits of land and take a
turn at sea?
And there's those City swells who live ten miles from
town or so, Their travels are a railway ride, night and morning to
and fro; Why, they're worse off than those stay-at-homes that
in the country dwell, Each to a desk is nailed all day, in an office like a
cell; Or, if they do get out, why, there's the very self-same
street They always see, the self-same stones that daily feel
their feet, The same dull fuss to get the chink each hour they're
going through; Lord! Ned, how we should sicken if we had their
work to do! Mill-horses, now, I do suppose, do get used to their
round, |
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