The Fisher's Boy

My life is like a stroll upon the beach,
⁠As near the ocean's edge as I can go;
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o'erreach,
⁠Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.


My sole employment 'tis, and scrupulous care,
⁠To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
⁠Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides.



I have but few companions on the shore:
⁠They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea;
Yet oft I think the ocean they've sailed o'er
⁠Is deeper known upon the strand to me.


The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
⁠Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view;
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
⁠And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.