Is like to fade; for water fails
On board the ship in which he sails.
Now all the reservoirs are shut,
The crew on short allowance put;
So small a drop is each man’s share
Few leavings you may think there are
To water these poor coffee plants!
But he supplies their gasping wants;
Ev’n from his own dry parched lips
He spares it for his coffee-slips.
Water he gives his nurslings first
Ere he allays his own deep thirst;
Lest if he first the water sip
He bear too far his eager lip.
He sees them droop for want of more;
Yet when they reach the destined shore,
With pride the heroic gardener sees
A living sap still in his trees.
The islanders his praise resound!
Coffee plantations rise around;
And Martinico loads her ships
With produce from those dear-saved slips.
B