On the Sappho
On The Yacht Sappho
by Bloodgood Cutter
The Sappho is a noble boat,
Of yachts, she seemed the largest size;
And so gracefully she did float,
As I cast over her my eyes.
Her bow I did examine well,
The shape did seem so like a wedge;
So easily she cut the swell,
It scarcely moved the waters’ edge.
A perfect boat she seems to be,
And fitted up so strong and neat
So she can safely cross the sea
And there the British yacht be beat.
For my own part I hope she will
Beat the whole fleet of Father Bull;
With joy that would my bosom fill,
And cheer me up so wonderful.
She bears indeed a lady’s name;
One, in her youth did famous prove—
She did attain poetic fame,
But she was also crossed in love.
To get relief, herself she threw
From Leucadia’s height into the sea;
To thus her ardent love subdue,
But death did set her spirit free.
But this I do not apprehend,
(Although in England it may prove)
To be the case with my young friend,
To thus so ardent fall in love.
But if he should with some fair one,
And by her then rejected be,
I hope he’ll not take Sappho’s turn,
Nor spring from her deck into the sea.
Although he might leap in and bathe,
That of itself would do him good;
Thus in the sea his body lave,
‘Twould also purify his blood.
Then let the British maidens go,
And return to his native land;
The girls stand ready here, I know,
To accept at once his proffered hand.
Little Neck, L.I. 1869