Byron, from the Wikimedia Commons
He may have been an extraordinary character and famously mad, bad and dangerous to know but the Romantic poet and Greek war hero Byron seems to have rather enjoyed the sea and boating, and even had a favourite dog called Boatswain.
An epitaph for the dog has become a favourite poem and can be found at the Wikipedia entry for Byron above.
Clearly Byron was a pretty wild character, but Id guess that these two themes - the sea and dogs - are things many of us more modest folk can identify with without too much difficulty.
While wandering around the National Maritime Museum Cornwall an exhibit drew my attention to a jolly if rather nauseous poem of Byrons that I hadnt heard before, and I thought I should include it here. It comes from Ambleside Online, and I hope none of you suffer a bout of sympathetic emesis&
Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written On Board the Lisbon Packet
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargos off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvass oer the mast.
From aloft the signals streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fird;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our times expird.
Heres a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house;
Trunks unpacking
Cases cracking,
Not a corner for a mouse
Scapes unsearchd amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,
Were impatientpush from shore.
Have a care! that case holds liquor
Stop the boatIm sickoh Lord!
Sick, maam, damme, youll be sicker,
Ere youve been an hour on board.
Thus are screaming
Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;
Here entangling,
All are wrangling,
Stuck together close as wax.
Such the genial noise and racket,
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.
Now weve reachd her, lo! the captain,
Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;
Passengers their berths are clapt in,
Some to grumble, some to spew.
Hey day! call you that a cabin?
Why t is hardly three feet square;
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in
Who the deuce can harbour there?
Heres a stanza
On Braganza
Help!A couplet?No, a cup
Of warm water
Whats the matter?
Zounds! my livers coming up;
I shall not survive the racket
Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.
Now at length were off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we shall come back!
Breezes foul and tempests murky
May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,
As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh by far the best is,
Then laugh onas I do now.
Laugh at all things,
Great and small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While were quaffing,
Lets have laughing
Who the devil cares for more?
Some good wine! and who would lack it,
Evn on board the Lisbon Packet?
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