Captain Enoch is small and spare
With a back that "cants to lea";
His face is wrinkled, but not from
It's spending his days at sea,
Along with winds and tides and rain;
Tarred rope and salty spray;
Mast and canvas and anchor chain,
Till he's battered and brown as they.
There's not a port he doesn't know,
From Iceland to Bombay,
And he talks of them when we're out for a row
In the most familiar way.
He says how China's a trifle hot;
And the folks are queer in Spain,
And he never met with any spot
That could beat the State o' Maine.
Those others, he says, may be all right
If they happen to suit your whim,
But Herring Harbor and Seal Ledge Light
Are good enough for him!
It's here he means to end his days,
Where he was a boy like me,
With the hills and islands and waterways
The same as they used to be.