THE BROWNIES CROSS THE ATLANTIC,

‘The artist paints, and poet raves

About the ocean’s tinted waves,

But, let me tell you, when you stand

"Twixt sky and water, far from land,

With gales behind and squalls before,

And angry ocean in full roar,

You ’re not so likely to ‘enthuse’ —

About its ‘cradles,’ or its hues.
The sea, indeed, since early days,
Has had its strange, uncertain Ways;
With pleasant calms that still invite
You from the shore in spirits light,
It leads you on, while scarce appears
A ripple to awaken fears.

But when far out upon the main

Where wishes and regrets are vain,

Into a boiling rage it goes

And neither sense nor pity shows,

But jumps around in manner dread,

As if to find another bed.

If at the first the world was planned

To have a greater stretch of land,

And less expanse of treacherous sea,

 

It would have better suited me.”
Another said, ‘My friend, I fear

Such carping won’t avail you here;

Pray keep a surer hold, you ’d best,
And let the world’s formation rest.

Few joys through life one may obtain

That are not balanced well with pain,
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