| The Injian Ocean sets an’ smiles |
| So sof’, so bright, so bloomin’ blue; |
| There aren’t a wave for miles an’ miles |
| Excep’ the jiggle from the screw. |
| The ship is swep’, the day is done, |
| The bugle’s gone for smoke and play; |
| An’ black ag’in the settin’ sun |
| The Lascar sings, «Hum deckty hai!» |
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| For to admire an’ for to see, |
| For to be’old this world so wide - |
| It never done no good to me, |
| But I can’t drop it if I tried! |
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| I see the sergeants pitchin’ quoits, |
| I ’ear the women laugh an’ talk, |
| I spy upon the quarter-deck |
| The officers an’ lydies walk. |
| I thinks about the things that was, |
| An’ leans an’ looks across the sea, |
| Till, spite of all the crowded ship, |
| There’s no one lef’ alive but me. |
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| The things that was which I ’ave seen, |
| In barrick, camp, an’ action too, |
| I tells them over by myself, |
| An’ sometimes wonders if they’re true; |
| For they was odd - most awful odd - |
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| There must be ’eaps o’ plenty such, |
| An' if I wait I’ll see some more. |
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| Oh, I 'ave come upon the books, |
| An' frequent broke a barrick-rule, |
| An' stood beside an' watched myself |
| Be'avin' like a bloomin' fool. |
| I paid my price for findin' out, |
| Nor never grutched the price I paid, |
| But sat in Clink without my boots, |
| Admirin' 'ow the world was made. |
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| Be’old a cloud upon the beam, |
| An' 'umped above the sea appears |
| Old Aden, like a barrick-stove |
| That no one's lit for years an' years. |
| I passed by that when I began, |
| An' I go 'ome the road I came, |
| A time-expired soldier-man |
| With six years' service to 'is name. |
| |
| My girl she said, «Oh, stay with me!» |
| My mother 'eld me to 'er breast. |
| They've never written none, an' so |
| They must 'ave gone with all the rest - |
|
| An' found an’ known an’ met along. |
| I cannot say the things I feel, |
| And so I sing my evenin’ song: |
| |
|
| ’old this world so wide - |
| It never done no good to me, |
| But I can't drop it if I tried! |