Читать книгу The Lazy Minstrel - Ashby-Sterry Joseph - Страница 25

A PRETTY picture is it not,

Beneath the awning of the yacht?

A beauty of Sixteen,

She wears a trim tarpaulin hat,

So now you know the reason that

I call her Tarpauline.

A taut serge dress of Navy blue,

A boatswain's silver whistle, too,

She wears when she's afloat;

An open collar, and I wot,

A veritable sailor's knot

Around her pretty throat.

She has a glance that pleads and kills;

And 'mid her shy and snowy frills

A little foot appears;

She has the softest sunny locks,

The compass she knows how to box,

And, when it's needful – ears!

The smartest little sailor-girl,

Who'll steer or "bear a hand" or furl,

And I am told she oft

Quite longs to reef her petticoats,

And gleefully to "girl the boats,"

Or glibly go aloft!

But now how lazily she lies!

And droops those tender trustful eyes

Unutterably sweet!

While snugly 'neath the bulwark curled,

Forgetting all about the world,

The World is at her feet!

With tiny, dimpled, sunburnt hand,

She pats the solemn Newfoundland

Who crouches at her side.

She's thinking – not of me nor you,

When smiling as she listens to

The lapping of the tide.

O, were I pressed, aboard that ship,

How joyfully I'd take a trip,

For change of air and scene!

I'd soon pack up a carpet-bag,

And gladly sail beneath the flag,

Of bonny Tarpauline!