Canute was by his nobles taught to fancy That, by a kind of royal necromancy, He had the power old Ocean to control. Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand, And issued, like a Solomon, command,--poor soul!
“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he; “Touch not your lord and master, Sea; For by my power almighty, if you do--” Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick, Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick, Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.
The sea retired,--the monarch fierce rushed on, And looked as if he’d drive him from the land; But Sea, not caring to be put upon, Made for a moment a bold stand.
Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean, But to his waves he made a motion, And bid them give the king a hearty trimming. The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle, For soon they put his Majesty in pickle, And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.
All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar, Sound did they make him wish himself on shore; His head and ears they most handsomely doused,-- Just like a porpoise, with one general shout, The waves so tumbled the poor king about. No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.
At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing, Indeed, more like a crab than like a king, And found his courtiers making rueful faces; But what said Canute to the lords and gentry, Who hailed him from the water, on his entry, All trembling for their lives or places?
“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice, I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle; My treatment from my foe, not overnice, Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.
“A pretty trick for one of my dominion! My lords, I thank you for your great opinion. You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game And bid me try another,--for the rubber. Permit me to inform you all, with shame, That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”
Clink--clink--clink! goes our windlass. “Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!” Yards braced and sails set, Flags uncurl and flow. Some eyes that watch from shore are wet, (How bright their welcome shone!) While, bending softly to the breeze, And rushing through the parted seas, Our gallant ship glides on. Though one has left a sweetheart, And one has left a wife, ’Twill never do to mope and fret, Or curse a sailor’s life. See, far away they signal yet,-- They dwindle--fade--they’re gone: For, dashing outwards, bold and brave, And springing light from wave to wave, Our merry ship flies on. Gay spreads the sparkling ocean; But many a gloomy night And stormy morrow must be met Ere next we heave in sight. The parting look we’ll ne’er forget, The kiss, the benison, As round the rolling world we go. God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow! Sail on, good ship, sail on!