The Good Ship "Ohio."

Swift o'er the lee when the wind flies free,     Follows the ship "Ohio,"     With skies o'ercast she bends to the blast,     Like a billowy bird she can fly, O,     And she'll leave all behind in a whispering wind     As soft as a maiden's sigh, O.     Or when o'er the Lakes the storm-cloud breaks,     And the waves scoop their murderous hollow,     While the weaker ship to its mooring must slip     And safe in a harbor wallow,     In the front of the storm she fills her white form,     And the demons of danger follow.     O for the life 'mid the storm and the strife     Of sailor and storm and billow!     Far be my bed from the lubberly dead     That sleep near the wailing willow,     But give me the grave of the mutinous wave     With its heaving and whistling pillow.     Down from the skies look the spectral eyes     Of our kelpie, sprite and bewailer,     And gathering in crowds by the shivering shrouds,     They croon while our cheeks grow paler,     And they sing as they sweep o'er the clamorous deep:     "We love the hot heart of a sailor!"