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Spread your wings; do not tire yourself. It will take a long time to climb Back over the Alps, far above to the thundering North Sea, There, where the sailor, under the protection of the narrow fords, Who has dropped anchor to the bottom of the Deep waters, No longer fears the storm and the wildly tossed surf. Fly, my little bee, on board Norwegian ships. There you will Hear: "Trim the sails!" You will see how they run up the flag Or smartly climb up into the mesh of rigging. All around the deck, on the staves, on the spars and masts You will see many a sinewy arm, many a weather-bronzed, Fresh, smooth face of some fellow, also see Many a trusting glance. Alight there and listen, When, camped in a circle, you hear old sailor stories Of ships tossed in stormy weather. L'Aquila in the Abruzzi Mountains, April and June 1884 --C[arlo] E[nrico] Ulrichs (C) 1990 by M. Lombardi-Nash
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