(A Nautical tale.)
A dream of a fleet we lately dreamt,
And enjoy’d a sail delicious
Far over the wide and boundless sea,
The wind was quite propitious.
We gave our frigates the proudest names
That we in our calendar reckon’d;
One Hoffmann of Fallersleben we call’d,
And Prutz we christen’d the second.
There floated the cutter Freiligrath,
Whereon was seen the figure
Of the Moorish king, which gazed below
Like a moon (but as black as a nigger).
There floated Gustavus Schwab as well,
A Pfizer, a Kölle, a Mayer;
On each of them stood a Swabian face,
Each holding a wooden lyre.
There floated Birch-Pfeiffer, a brig which bore
On its mast the escutcheon olden
Of the famous German Admiralty,
On tatters black-red-golden.
We boldly clamber’d on bowsprit and yard,
And bore ourselves like sailors;
Our jackets were short, our hats betarr’d,
And our trousers as big as a tailor’s.
Full many, who formerly sipp’d but tea
As husbands kind and forbearing,
Now drank their rum, their pigtail chew’d,
And, seaman-like, took to swearing.
So bright was our vision, we well nigh won
A naval victory splendid;
But when return’d the morning sun,
Both fleet and vision had ended.
We still were lying at home in bed,
Our limbs all over it sprawling;
We rubbed the sleep from out of our eyes,
The following wise speech bawling:
“The world is round; why seek to be tost
“On the idle billows, faint-hearted?
“When we sail round the world, at last we return
“To the point from which we started.”