TELL me, lovely girl, Whither would you go? For the sails unfurl And the breezes blow! I've an ivory scull, Streams of silken flags, Golden-ruddered hull Thro' the water drags; And for ballast weight An orange round and light; And my little mate Is a seraph mite; And the sail that swings Is together sewn From the down of wings Cherubim have known. Tell me, lovely girl, Whither would you go? For the sails unfurl And the breezes blow! Would you to the North Where the Baltic raves Say, or would you forth Over tropic waves? Where the bergs are chill Pluck the flower of snow, Or where fierce suns spill Cull the flower below? Tell me, lovely girl, Whither would you go? For the sails unfurl And the breezes blow! "Drive for me your keel,—" So the girl did sigh— "To the land o' leal Where no love may die." "That's a coast, my dear, Not upon the chart Of the bays and drear Forelands of the heart." |