Yet memory softly sings Poor Miss 7 Songs full of love and peace And gladness even; Clear flowers and tiny wings, All tender, lovely things, Hope to her bosom brings - Happy Miss 7. SAM When Sam goes back in memory, It is to where the sea Breaks on the shingle, emerald-green, In white foam, endlessly; He says - with small brown eye on mine- 'I used to keep awake, And lean from my window in the moon, Watching those billows break. And half a million tiny hands, And eyes, like sparks of frost, Would dance and come tumbling into the moon, On every breaker tossed. And all across from star to star, I've seen the watery sea, With not a single ship in sight, Just ocean there, and me; And heard my father snore. And once, As sure as I'm alive, Out of those wallowing, moon-flecked waves I saw a mermaid dive; Head and shoulders above the wave, Plain as I now see you, Combing her hair, now back, now front, Her two eyes peeping through; Calling me, 'Sam!' -quietlike- 'Sam!'... But me .... I never went, Making believe I kind of thought 'Twas some one else she meant.... Wonderful lovely there she sat, Singing the night away, All in the solitudinous sea Of that there lonely bay. P'raps,' and he'd smooth his hairless mouth, 'P'raps, if 'twere now, my son, Praps, if I heard a voice say, 'Sam!'... Morning would find we gone.' ANDY BATTLE Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho! And he sailed out over the say For the isles where pink coral and palm branches blow, And the fire-flies turn night into day, Yeo ho! And the fire-flies turn night into day. But the Dolphin went down in a tempest, yeo ho! And with three forsook sailors ashore, The portingales took him wh'ere sugar-canes grow, Their slave for to be evermore, Yeo ho! Their slave for to be evermore. With his musket for mother and brother, yeo ho! He warred with the Cannibals drear, in forests where panthers pad soft to and fro, And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear, Yeo ho! And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear. Now lean with long travail, all wasted with woe, With a monkey for messmate and friend, He sits 'neath the Cross in the cankering snow, And waites for his sorrowful end, Yeo ho! And waits for his sorrowful end. THE OLD SOLDIER There came an Old Soldier to my door, Asked a crust, and asked no more; The wars had thinned him very bare, Fighting and marching everywhere, With a Fol rol dol rol di do. With nose stuck out, and cheek sunk in, A bristling beard upon his chin - Powder and bullets and wounds and drums Had come to that Soldier as suchlike comes - With a Fol rol dol rol di do. 'Twas sweet and fresh with buds of May, Flowers springing from every spray; And when he had supped the Old Soldier trolled The song of youth that never grows old, Called Fol rol dol rol di do.