Bred up beside the rugged coast, three brothers bold were we; Wild urchin mariners, who knew no play-place but the sea: We spurn'd all space the earth could give the valley, hill, and field; The main, the boundless main alone, our reckless sports could yield. We long had borrow'd sail and skiff,—obliged to be content With any crazy, sluggard hull, that kindly fisher lent: At last our spirits, like our limbs, all strong and broad had grown; And all our thoughts were centred in "a vessel of our own!"
The eldest-born, our hope and pride, the brightest of the three, Had enter'd on the busy world, a sturdy shipwright he; And mighty project fill'd our heads—we sat in council sage, With earnest speech and gravity beseeming riper age: We dared to think, we dared to say, that he could frame a boat, And many others said the same, but question'd—"would it float?" Yet lines were drawn and timbers bought; all well and wisely plann'd; And steadily he set to work to try his "prentice hand."
He soon gave proof of goodly skill, and built a tiny craft; While grey-hair'd sailors shook their heads and beardless landsmen laugh'd. "'Tis a sweet cockleshell," cried they, "well form'd to please a boy; With silken sails the thing will be a pretty water toy!" We took their taunts all quietly, till she was fit to launch; And then some eyes began to find she look'd a little stanch. All trim and neat, rigg'd out complete, we hail'd our fairy bark, And chose her name the Petrel, from the bird of storm and dark.
We three, and Will, the smuggler's son, composed her stripling crew; Her sheets were white as breaker's spray, her pennon old true blue; And blessed was the breezy hour, and happy wights were we, When first we gave her wings the wind, and saw her take the sea, She clear'd the bay, and shot away with free and steady speed; Ne'er faster sped the desert child upon his Arab steed; And though that squally day had served the fishers to deter; The Petrel fairly show'd us, that it fail'd to frighten her.
We reef'd—she slack'd; "Helm down!"—she tack'd: she scudded—went about: All nobly done, our hopes were won-what triumph fill'd our shout! And miser never prized his heaps, nor bridegroom loved his bride; As we did our brave Petrel when she cut the booming tide. Full many a fearful trip we made; no hazard did we shun; We met the gale as readily as butterflies the sun: No terror seized our glowing hearts; the blast but raised our mirth; We felt as safe upon her planks, as by our household hearth.
When many a large and stately ship lay rolling like a log, With more of water in her hold than that which served for grog,– "What ho!" we'd cry, while skimming by, "look here, ye boasting band! Just see what boys with water toys and silken sails can stand!" Old Nep might lash his dolphins on with fierce and splashing wrath, And summon all the myrmidons of death about his path; The Triton trumpeter might sound his conch-horn long and loud, Till scaly monsters woke and toss'd the billows to the cloud.
The Nereids might scream their glee, bluff Boreas howl and rave; But still the little Petrel was as saucy as the wave. By day or night, in shade or light, a fitting mate was she To ramble with her sponsor-bird, and live on any sea. She tempted with a witching spell, she lured us to forget A sister's fear, a mother's tear, a father's chiding threat: Away we'd dash through foam and flash, and take the main as soon Amid the scowling tempest as beneath the summer moon.
Some thirty years of toil and moil have done their work since then; And changed us three young mariners to staid and thoughtful men: But when by lucky chance we meet, we ne'er forget to note The perils that we dared with such a "wee thing" of a boat. Oh were it so that time could give some chosen moments back, Full well we know the sunniest that ever lit life's track; We'd ask the days beside the coast, of freedom, health, and joy— The ocean for our play-place, and the Petrel for our toy.
