  The schooner swells its sails for the far-off seas, The steamer pounds proudly far away, But I'd sooner be ascudding in a ten-knot breeze In my little lug and mizzen in the bay. The schooner sings the wind's song from Bristol to Brazil, The steamer knows the whole World's way, But I can see a cottage on a windy hill From my little lug and mizzen in the bay. The schooner's up to hatches with her pig-iron, coal, and mud, The steamer, plugged with cargo, heaves away, But I can whiffle mackerel as through the waves I scud In my little lug and mizzen in the bay. O! living in a schooner is like living in a tree, And a steamer's like a big hotel to-day, If I had my choice of sailing, I know I'd soonest be In my little lug and mizzen in the bay. |
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