It is true that I imperilled your mortal body a score of
times, but through fifty-score weeks I nurtured your immortal soul,
Guy.
And now I am going back to that sea wherein I expect to find rest
at the last, and let my friends make no mourning over it, Guy. 'Tis
a beautiful clean grave, no mould nor crawling worms there. But if
it be that the sea will have none of me, and the metalled war-dogs
drive me, and spar-shattered and hull-battered I make a run of it
to harbor in my old age, I shall come in full confidence of a
mooring under your roof, Guy. And who knows that I won't be worth
my salt there?
You have won her, Guy. I knew you would from that night in Momba
when you sat in the stern sheets and laughed. 'Twas in your laugh
that night, though you did not suspect it. But I know. The tides
of youth were surging in you. Beauty, wit, and courage--with these
in any man I will measure sword; but the tides of youth are of
eternal power.
I should like to dance your children on my knee, Guy, and lull the
songs of the sea into their little ears. I've a fine collection by
now, Guy--you've no idea--ringing chanties to get a ship under way,
and roaring staves of the High Barbaree, ballads of the gale, and
lullabies of west winds and summer nights.
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