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Song of the Wooden-Legged Fiddler (PORTSMOUTH 1805) I lived in a cottage adown in the West When I was a boy, a boy; But I knew no peace and I took no rest Though the roses nigh smothered my snug little nest; For the smell of the sea Was much rarer to me, And the life of a sailor was all my joy. CHORUS.--The life of a sailor was all my joy! My mother she wept, and she begged me to stay Anchored for life to her apron-string, And soon she would want me to help with the hay; So I bided her time, then I flitted away On a night of delight in the following spring, With a pair of stout shoon And a seafaring tune And a bundle and stick in the light of the moon, Down the long road To Portsmouth I strode, To fight like a sailor for country and king. CHORUS.--To fight like a sailor for country and king. And now that my feet are turned homeward again My heart is still crying Ahoy! Ahoy! And my thoughts are still out on the Spanish main A-chasing the frigates of France and Spain, For at heart an old sailor is always a boy; And his nose will still itch For the powder and pitch Till the days when he can't tell t'other from which, Nor a grin o' the guns from a glint o' the sea, Nor a skipper like Nelson from lubbers like me. CHORUS.--Nor a skipper like Nelson from lubbers like me. Ay! Now that I'm old I'm as bold as the best, And the life of a sailor is all my joy; Though I've swapped my leg For a wooden peg And my head is as bald as a new-laid egg, The smell of the sea Is like victuals to me, And I think in the grave I'll be crying Ahoy! For, though my old carcass is ready to rest, At heart an old sailor is always a boy. CHORUS.--At heart an old sailor is always a boy. Alfred Noyes's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1198 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |