  ‘Goneys an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea, They ain’t no birds, not really,’ said Billy the Dane. Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,’ said he, ‘But simply the sperrits of mariners livin’ again. ‘Them birds goin’ fishin’ is nothin’ but souls o’ the drowned, Souls o’ the drowned an’ the kicked as are never no more; An’ that there haughty old albatross cruisin’ around, Belike he’s Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. An’ merry’s the life they are living. They settle and dip, When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship To see how the nowaday mariners manages things. ‘When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish— (Though maybe it ain’t like a Christian)—I wish I could be A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fish And coming the proud over all o’ the birds o’ the sea.’ |
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