Mackerel clouds and mares’ tails
A-sailing, a-trailing,
Make lofty ships carry low sails
A-sailing, a-trailing away.
When the mack’rel are in the sky,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
Soon the wind will be blowing high:
A-sailing and trailing away.
When the mack’rel shine in the moon,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
Then the wind will begin to tune:
A-sailing, a-trailing away.
Of all the wind upon the seas,
A-sailing, a-trailing;
The best is an evening mackerel breeze:
A-sailing and trailing away.
“A mackerel is a sailor-dish,”
Said Jones, “for ’tis a sailor fish,
All drest, like us, in white and blue,
Which I do call the prettiest hue
Which the great heaven has to show
Of all the colours in the bow:
So, if you please, I’ll sing to you
A little song about the Blue!”