The Good Craft _Snow Bird_

Strenuous need that head-wind be From purposed voyage that drives at last The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, Beating up against the blast. Brigs that figs for market gather, Homeward-bound upon the stretch, Encounter oft this uglier weather Yet in end their port they fetch. Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna Glazed with ice in Boston Bay; Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly, Livelier for the frosty ray. What if sleet off-shore assailed her, What though ice yet plate her yards; In wintry port not less she renders Summer's gift with warm regards! And, look, the underwriters' man, Timely, when the stevedore's done, Puts on his _specs_ to pry and scan, And sets her down--_A, No. 1._ Bravo, master! Bravo, brig! For slanting snows out of the West Never the _Snow-Bird_ cares one fig; And foul winds steady her, though a pest.