Was a youth of twenty-three,
Who had met and loved in secret
Fair Estella Thormansby.
Judge of Charley's bliss and rapture,
When he heard the maid divine
Was to be his shipmate in a
Steamer of the Cunard Line.
Off at last! The steamer's started,
In the distance fades the town;
Up and down, in search of rivals,
Wanders, restless, C. A. Brown.
Happy youth! Of rivals there are
None, as far as he can learn,
Save, perhaps, a man from Harvard,
Bearded, grave, and taciturn.
Near the mainmast, in the starlight,
Sits the couple all alone;
Charles attempts to quote his Byron,
In a hollow, dismal tone.
For, though sitting in the moonlight
By the side of one so dear,
Yet, to tell the truth, Augustus
Really feels extremely queer.
"Don't you find those lines enchanting
That begin -" He sought the rail.
No one, save the tossing billows,
Heard the ending of his tale.
Eight days later, by the mainmast,
Sits another loving pair;
He, the bearded man from Harvard;
She, the maiden false and fair.
And the student murmurs something
So extremely to her taste,
That a sound of kissing follows,
And his hand steals round her waist.
From a swathed-up mummy near them
Comes a deep and hollow groan,
As it rises, turns, and plunges
In the white and seething foam.
'This an old and truthful adage,
"Fellow-tradesmen can't agree."
Swells of ocean play the mischief
With the swells who go to sea.