Hurrah! we’re afloat, and away speeds the boat
as fast as its paddles can go,
With the wind on its back, and a broad foaming track
behind it, as white as the snow.
On board, every eye is strained to descry
the white cliffs of our own native land,
And brightly they gleam, as onward we steam,
till at length they are close at hand.
The sun shines with glee on the rippling sea,
and the pennant strung high on the mast.
But at length it sinks down behind the grey town,
and tells us the day is nigh past.
See, there is the port, and near it a fort,
and the strong old Castle of Dover—
We’re close to the shore—just five minutes more,
and the Channel Crossing is over.
Then all safe and sound upon English ground,
we bid farewell to the sea—
Jump into the train, and start off again
as fast as the engine can flee.
We run up to town, and thence travel down
to the home in the country, at night;
Then, I’m sorry to say, dear Nellie and May,
Rose, Dennis, and Bertie bright,
We must leave in their home till next holidays come,
when, let all of us hope, it may chance
That our trip will, next Spring, be as pleasant a thing
as our swallow-flight over to France.