Hymn for Howlers

Who that has sailed upon the ocean's face,
Or walked beside the sea along the sand,
Has not felt envy for the piscine race,
Comparing its domain, where noise is banned,
To the infernal racket that takes place
On land?

While up above the billows rage and roar
And make a most unnecessary noise,
And shallow Shrimps, who live too near the shore,
Are harassed by the shouts of girls and boys,
Who find the beach a place convenient for
Their toys,

The happy members of the Fishy clan
Pursue in peace their various pursuits,
All undisturbed by bell of muffin-man,
Or bellow of purveyor of fresh fruits,
Who at each "Pub" his voice republican
Recruits.

The harmless Herring gambols with his young,
And heeds but hears not their impulsive play.
(His heart is with their mother who was flung,
Kippered to feed a clerk's bank-holiday,
Into the salting-tub and passed unsung
Away.)

Now, had this Herring been of human breed,
And lived in London or some other town,
Fate would have made him hear as well as heed
His offspring as it gambolled up and down,
Making a noise that's very hard indeed
To drown.

Moreover, organ-grinders would have ground,
And yowls from both "employed" and "unemployed";
Hoarse howls from those who had "salvation" found,
And bawls from those whose faith had been destroyed,
Would have combined to keep his sense of sound
Annoyed.

Who would not therefore rather be a Whale,
A Hake, a Haddock, or a Mackerel,
Than linger in this sad uncertain vale
(Here where men sit and hear each other yell)?
Better to go, if other places fail,
To ------