A young sailor remembers the morning he walked away from everything familiar to join a ship. It has been three years since, but he can still see his native fields, the scarlet poppies, and hear the cooing of pigeons in the lane. The crows flapping over the grain felt like dear old neighbors saying goodbye. Yet as his journey continues, a subtle shift happens — the hedgerows, steeples, and even a pretty milkmaid’s face become strange and unknown. He has crossed into places where he belongs no more. That ache of loss gives way to a bright new wonder when he finally reaches the shore and beholds a glorious sea, with English colours flying from the squadron. The speaker’s mood is a quiet mixture: he carries the pull of home and the loneliness of departure, but also a genuine pleasure in the wide ocean and his life aloft, singing among the rigging.
The Sailor-Boy — Summary
Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide. I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew, And the groundlark left his nest like a neighbour which I knew.
The pigeons from the dove cote cooed over the old lane, The crow flocks from the oakwood went flopping oer the grain; Like lots of dear old neighbours whom I shall see no more They greeted me that morning I left the English shore.
The sun was just a-rising above the heath of furze, And the shadows grow to giants; that bright ball never stirs: There the shepherds lay with their dogs by their side, And they started up and barked as my shadow they espied.
A maid of early morning twirled her mop upon the moor; I wished her my farewell before she closed the door. My friends I left behind me for other places new, Crows and pigeons all were strangers as oer my head they flew.
Trees and bushes were all strangers, the hedges and the lanes, The steeples and the houses and broad untrodden plains. I passed the pretty milkmaid with her red and rosy face; I knew not where I met her, I was strange to the place.
At last I saw the ocean, a pleasing sight to me: I stood upon the shore of a mighty glorious sea. The waves in easy motion went rolling on their way, English colours were a-flying where the British squadron lay.
I left my honest parents, the church clock and the village; I left the lads and lasses, the labour and the tillage; To plough the briny ocean, which soon became my joy-- I sat and sang among the shrouds, a lonely sailor-boy.