Page:Poems by Ingelow, Jean.djvu/233

 sat on a crag of late,
 * And sung out, 'Ahoy! ahoy!

Long life to the captain, good luck to the mate,
 * And this to my sailor boy!
 * Come over, come home,
 * Through the salt sea foam,
 * My sailor, my sailor boy.

Here's a crown to be given away, I ween,
 * A crown for my sailor's head.

And all for the worth of a widowed queen,
 * And the love of the noble dead,
 * And the fear and fame
 * Of the island's name
 * Where my boy was born and bred.

Content thee, content thee, let it alone,
 * Thou marked for a choice so rare;

Though treaties be treaties, never a throne
 * Was proffered for cause as fair.
 * Yet come to me home,
 * Through the salt sea foam,
 * For the Greek must ask elsewhere.