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diff --git a/18268.txt b/18268.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5fe55aa --- /dev/null +++ b/18268.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2455 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads of Lost Haven, by Bliss Carman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ballads of Lost Haven + A Book of the Sea + +Author: Bliss Carman + +Release Date: April 27, 2006 [EBook #18268] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS OF LOST HAVEN *** + + + + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + +Ballads of Lost Haven + +_A Book of the Sea_ + + +By BLISS CARMAN + +_Author of_ Low Tide on Grand Pre, Behind the Arras, Songs from +Vagabondia, &c. + +[Illustration: Logo] + +Lamson, Wolffe and Company Boston, New York and London + +MDCCCXCVII + +Copyright, 1897 + +by Lamson, Wolffe and Company + +_All rights reserved_ + +Norwood Press + +J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith + +Norwood Mass. U.S.A. + + + + +Contents + + PAGE + A SON OF THE SEA 7 + THE GRAVEDIGGER 8 + THE YULE GUEST 12 + THE MARRING OF MALYN 26 + THE NANCY'S PRIDE 43 + ARNOLD, MASTER OF THE SCUD 48 + THE SHIPS OF ST. JOHN 55 + THE KING OF YS 59 + THE KELPIE RIDERS 68 + NOONS OF POPPY 93 + LEGENDS OF LOST HAVEN 95 + THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN 98 + THE MASTER OF THE ISLES 104 + THE LAST WATCH 110 + OUTBOUND 116 + + + + +A SON OF THE SEA + + I was born for deep-sea faring; + I was bred to put to sea; + Stories of my father's daring + Filled me at my mother's knee. + + I was sired among the surges; + I was cubbed beside the foam; + All my heart is in its verges, + And the sea wind is my home. + + All my boyhood, from far vernal + Bourns of being, came to me + Dream-like, plangent, and eternal + Memories of the plunging sea. + + + + +THE GRAVEDIGGER + + Oh, the shambling sea is a sexton old, + And well his work is done. + With an equal grave for lord and knave, + He buries them every one. + + Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip, + He makes for the nearest shore; + And God, who sent him a thousand ship, + Will send him a thousand more; + But some he'll save for a bleaching grave, + And shoulder them in to shore,-- + Shoulder them in, shoulder them in, + Shoulder them in to shore. + + Oh, the ships of Greece and the ships of Tyre + Went out, and where are they? + In the port they made, they are delayed + With the ships of yesterday. + + He followed the ships of England far, + As the ships of long ago; + And the ships of France they led him a dance, + But he laid them all arow. + + Oh, a loafing, idle lubber to him + Is the sexton of the town; + For sure and swift, with a guiding lift, + He shovels the dead men down. + + But though he delves so fierce and grim, + His honest graves are wide, + As well they know who sleep below + The dredge of the deepest tide. + + Oh, he works with a rollicking stave at lip, + And loud is the chorus skirled; + With the burly rote of his rumbling throat + He batters it down the world. + + He learned it once in his father's house, + Where the ballads of eld were sung; + And merry enough is the burden rough, + But no man knows the tongue. + + Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see, + And wilful she must have been, + That she could bide at his gruesome side + When the first red dawn came in. + + And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those + She greets to his border home; + And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep + That beckons, and they come. + + Oh, crooked is he, but strong enough + To handle the tallest mast; + From the royal barque to the slaver dark, + He buries them all at last. + + Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip, + He makes for the nearest shore; + And God, who sent him a thousand ship, + Will send him a thousand more; + But some he'll save for a bleaching grave, + And shoulder them in to shore,-- + Shoulder them in, shoulder them in, + Shoulder them in to shore. + + + + +THE YULE GUEST + + And Yanna by the yule log + Sat in the empty hall, + And watched the goblin firelight + Caper upon the wall: + + The goblins of the hearthstone, + Who teach the wind to sing, + Who dance the frozen yule away + And usher back the spring; + + The goblins of the Northland, + Who teach the gulls to scream, + Who dance the autumn into dust, + The ages into dream. + + Like the tall corn was Yanna, + Bending and smooth and fair,-- + His Yanna of the sea-gray eyes + And harvest-yellow hair. + + Child of the low-voiced people + Who dwell among the hills, + She had the lonely calm and poise + Of life that waits and wills. + + Only to-night a little + With grave regard she smiled, + Remembering the morn she woke + And ceased to be a child. + + Outside, the ghostly rampikes, + Those armies of the moon, + Stood while the ranks of stars drew on + To that more spacious noon,-- + + While over them in silence + Waved on the dusk afar + The gold flags of the Northern light + Streaming with ancient war. + + And when below the headland + The riders of the foam + Up from the misty border rode + The wild gray horses home, + + And woke the wintry mountains + With thunder on the shore, + Out of the night there came a weird + And cried at Yanna's door. + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + They buried me away + In the blue fathoms of the deep, + Beyond the outer bay. + + "But in the yule, O Yanna, + Up from the round dim sea + And reeling dungeons of the fog, + I am come back to thee!" + + The wind slept in the forest, + The moon was white and high, + Only the shifting snow awoke + To hear the yule guest cry. + + "O Yanna, Yanna, Yanna, + Be quick and let me in! + For bitter is the trackless way + And far that I have been!" + + Then Yanna by the yule log + Starts from her dream to hear + A voice that bids her brooding heart + Shudder with joy and fear. + + The wind is up a moment + And whistles at the eaves, + And in his troubled iron dream + The ocean moans and heaves. + + She trembles at the door-lock + That he is come again, + And frees the wooden bolt for one + No barrier could detain. + + "O Garvin, bonny Garvin, + So late, so late you come!" + The yule log crumbles down and throws + Strange figures on the gloom; + + But in the moonlight pouring + Through the half-open door + Stands the gray guest of yule and casts + No shadow on the floor. + + The change that is upon him + She knows not in her haste; + About him her strong arms with glad + Impetuous tears are laced. + + She's led him to the fireside, + And set the wide oak chair, + And with her warm hands brushed away + The sea-rime from his hair. + + "O Garvin, I have waited,-- + Have watched the red sun sink, + And clouds of sail come flocking in + Over the world's gray brink, + + "With stories of encounter + On plank and mast and spar; + But never the brave barque I launched + And waved across the bar. + + "How come you so unsignalled, + When I have watched so well? + Where rides the Adrianna + With my name on boat and bell?" + + "O Yanna, golden Yanna, + The Adrianna lies + With the sea dredging through her ports, + The white sand through her eyes. + + "And strange unearthly creatures + Make marvel of her hull, + Where far below the gulfs of storm + There is eternal lull. + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + This midnight I am here, + Because one night of all my life + At yule tide of the year, + + "With the stars white in heaven, + And peace upon the sea, + With all my world in your white arms + You gave yourself to me. + + "For that one night, my Yanna, + Within the dying year, + Was it not well to love, and now + Can it be well to fear?" + + "O Garvin, there is heartache + In tales that are half told; + But ah, thy cheek is pale to-night, + And thy poor hands are cold! + + "Tell me the course, the voyage, + The ports, and the new stars; + Did the long rollers make green surf + On the white reefs and bars?" + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + Though easily I found + The set of those uncharted tides + In seas no line could sound, + + "And made without a pilot + The port without a light, + No log keeps tally of the knots + That I have sailed to-night. + + "It fell about mid-April; + The Trades were holding free; + We drove her till the scuppers hissed + And buried in the lee. + + * * * * * + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + Loose hands and let me go! + The night grows red along the East, + And in the shifting snow + + "I hear my shipmates calling, + Sent out to search for me + In the pale lands beneath the moon + Along the troubling sea." + + "O Garvin, bonny Garvin, + What is the booming sound + Of canvas, and the piping shrill, + As when a ship comes round?" + + "It is the shadow boatswain + Piping his hands to bend + The looming sails on giant yards + Aboard the Nomansfriend. + + "She sails for Sunken Harbor + And ports of yester year; + The tern are shrilling in the lift, + The low wind-gates are clear. + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + The little while is done. + Thou wilt behold the brightening sea + Freshen before the sun, + + "And many a morning redden + The dark hill slopes of pine; + But I must sail hull-down to-night + Below the gray sea-line. + + "I shall not hear the snowbirds + Their morning litany, + For when the dawn comes over dale + I must put out to sea." + + "O Garvin, bonny Garvin, + To have thee as I will, + I would that never more on earth + The dawn came over hill." + + * * * * * + + Then on the snowy pillow, + Her hair about her face, + He laid her in the quiet room, + And wiped away all trace + + Of tears from the poor eyelids + That were so sad for him, + And soothed her into sleep at last + As the great stars grew dim. + + Tender as April twilight + He sang, and the song grew + Vague as the dreams which roam about + This world of dust and dew: + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + Dear Love, look forth to sea + And all year long until the yule, + Dear Heart, keep watch for me! + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + I hear the calling sea, + And the folk telling tales among + The hills where I would be. + + "O Yanna, Adrianna, + Over the hills of sea + The wind calls and the morning comes, + And I must forth from thee. + + "But Yanna, Adrianna, + Keep watch above the sea; + And when the weary time is o'er, + Dear Life, come back to me!" + + "O Garvin, bonny Garvin--" + She murmurs in her dream, + And smiles a moment in her sleep + To hear the white gulls scream. + + Then with the storm foreboding + Far in the dim gray South, + He kissed her not upon the cheek + Nor on the burning mouth, + + But once above the forehead + Before he turned away; + And ere the morning light stole in, + That golden lock was gray. + + "O Yanna, Adrianna--" + The wind moans to the sea; + And down the sluices of the dawn + A shadow drifts alee. + + + + +THE MARRING OF MALYN + + +I + +THE MERRYMAKERS + + Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea + There is a merrymaking, as old as old can be. + + Over the river reaches, over the wastes of snow, + Halting at every doorway, the white drifts come and go. + + They scour upon the open, and mass along the wood, + The burliest invaders that ever man withstood. + + With swoop and whirl and scurry, these riders of the drift + Will mount and wheel and column, and pass into the lift. + + All night upon the marshes you hear their tread go by, + And all night long the streamers are dancing on the sky. + + Their light in Malyn's chamber is pale upon the floor, + And Malyn of the mountains is theirs for evermore. + + She fancies them a people in saffron and in green, + Dancing for her. For Malyn is only seventeen. + + Out there beyond her window, from frosty deep to deep, + Her heart is dancing with them until she falls asleep. + + Then all night long through heaven, with stately to and fro, + To music of no measure, the gorgeous dancers go. + + The stars are great and splendid, beryl and gold and blue, + And there are dreams for Malyn that never will come true. + + Yet for one golden Yule-tide their royal guest is she, + Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea. + +II + +A SAILOR'S WEDDING + + There is a Norland laddie who sails the round sea-rim, + And Malyn of the mountains is all the world to him. + The Master of the Snowflake, bound upward from the line, + He smothers her with canvas along the crumbling brine. + He crowds her till she buries and shudders from his hand, + For in the angry sunset the watch has sighted land; + And he will brook no gainsay who goes to meet his bride. + But their will is the wind's will who traffic on the tide. + Make home, my bonny schooner! The sun goes down to light + The gusty crimson wind-halls against the wedding night. + + She gathers up the distance, and grows and veers and swings, + Like any homing swallow with nightfall in her wings. + The wind's white sources glimmer with shining gusts of rain; + And in the Ardise country the spring comes back again. + It is the brooding April, haunted and sad and dear, + When vanished things return not with the returning year. + Only, when evening purples the light in Malyn's dale, + With sound of brooks and robins, by many a hidden trail, + With stir of lulling rivers along the forest floor, + The dream-folk of the gloaming come back to Malyn's door. + The dusk is long and gracious, and far up in the sky + You hear the chimney-swallows twitter and scurry by. + The hyacinths are lonesome and white in Malyn's room; + And out at sea the Snowflake is driving through the gloom. + The whitecaps froth and freshen; in squadrons of white surge + They thunder on to ruin, and smoke along the verge. + The lift is black above them, the sea is mirk below, + And down the world's wide border they perish as they go. + They comb and seethe and founder, they mount and glimmer and flee, + Amid the awful sobbing and quailing of the sea. + They sheet the flying schooner in foam from stem to stern, + Till every yard of canvas is drenched from clew to ear'n'. + And where they move uneasy, chill is the light and pale; + They are the Skipper's daughters, who dance before the gale. + They revel with the Snowflake, and down the close of day + Among the boisterous dancers she holds her dancing way; + And then the dark has kindled the harbor light alee, + With stars and wind and sea-room upon the gurly sea. + The storm gets up to windward to heave and clang and brawl; + The dancers of the open begin to moan and call. + A lure is in their dancing, a weird is in their song; + The snow-white Skipper's daughters are stronger than the strong. + They love the Norland sailor who dares the rough sea play; + Their arms are white and splendid to beckon him away. + They promise him, for kisses a moment at their lips, + To make before the morning the port of missing ships, + Where men put in for shelter, and dreams put forth again, + And the great sea-winds follow the journey of the rain. + A bridal with no morrow, no welling of old tears, + For him, and no more tidings of the departed years! + For there of old were fashioned the chambers cool and dim, + In the eternal silence below the twilight's rim. + The borders of that country are slumberous and wide; + And they are well who marry the fondlers of the tide. + Within their arms immortal, no mortal fear can be; + But Malyn of the mountains is fairer than the sea. + And so the scudding Snowflake flies with the wind astern, + And through the boding twilight are blown the shrilling tern. + The light is on the headland, the harbor gate is wide; + But rolling in with ruin the fog is on the tide. + Fate like a muffled steersman sails with that Norland gloom; + The Snowflake in the offing is neck and neck with doom. + Ha, ha, my saucy cruiser, crowd up your helm and run! + There'll be a merrymaking to-morrow in the sun. + A cloud of straining canvas, a roar of breaking foam, + The Snowflake and the sea-drift are racing in for home. + Her heart is dancing shoreward, but silently and pale + The swift relentless phantom is hungering on her trail. + They scour and fly together, until across the roar + He signals for a pilot--and Death puts out from shore. + A moment Malyn's window is gleaming in the lee, + And then--the ghost of wreckage upon the iron sea. + + Ah, Malyn, lay your forehead upon your folded arm, + And hear the grim marauder shake out the reefs of storm! + Loud laughs the surly Skipper to feel the fog drive in, + Because a blue-eyed sailor shall wed his kith and kin, + And the red dawn discover a rover spent for breath + Among the merrymakers who fondle him to death. + And all the snowy sisters are dancing wild and grand, + For him whose broken beauty shall slacken to their hand. + They wanton in their triumph, and skirl at Malyn's plight; + Lift up their hands in chorus, and thunder to the night. + The gulls are driven inland; but on the dancing tide + The master of the Snowflake is taken to his bride. + + And there when daybreak yellows along the far sea-plain, + The fresh and buoyant morning comes down the wind again. + The world is glad of April, the gulls are wild with glee, + And Malyn on the headland alone looks out to sea. + Once more that gray Shipmaster smiles, for the night is done, + And all his snow-white daughters are dancing in the sun. + +III + +THE LIGHT ON THE MARSH + + The year grows on to harvest, the tawny lilies burn + Along the marsh, and hillward the roads are sweet with fern. + All day the windless heaven pavilions the sea-blue, + Then twilight comes and drenches the sultry dells with dew. + The lone white star of evening comes out among the hills, + And in the darkling forest begin the whip-poor-wills. + The fireflies that wander, the hawks that flit and scream, + And all the wilding vagrants of summer dusk and dream, + Have all their will, and reck not of any after thing, + Inheriting no sorrow and no foreshadowing. + The wind forgets to whisper, the pines forget to moan, + And Malyn of the mountains is there among her own. + Malyn, whom grief nor wonder can trouble nevermore, + Since that spring night the Snowflake was wrecked beside her door, + And strange her cry went seaward once, and her soul thereon + With the vast lonely sea-winds, a wanderer, was gone. + But she, that patient beauty which is her body fair, + Endures on earth still lovely, untenanted of care. + The folk down at the harbor pity from day to day; + With a "God save you, Malyn!" they bid her on her way. + She smiles, poor feckless Malyn, the knowing smile of those + Whom the too sudden vision God sometimes may disclose + Of his wild, lurid world-wreck, has blinded with its sheen. + Then, with a fond insistence, pathetic and serene, + They pass among their fellows for lost minds none can save, + Bent on their single business, and marvel why men rave. + Now far away a sighing comes from the buried reef, + As though the sea were mourning above an ancient grief. + For once the restless Mother of all the weary lands + Went down to him in beauty, with trouble in her hands, + And gave to him forever all memory to keep, + But to her wayward children oblivion and sleep, + That no immortal burden might plague one living thing, + But death should sweetly visit us vagabonds of spring. + And so his heart forever goes inland with the tide, + Searching with many voices among the marshes wide. + Under the quiet starlight, up through the stirring reeds, + With whispering and lamenting it rises and recedes. + All night the lapsing rivers croon to their shingly bars + The wizardries that mingle the sea-wind and the stars. + And all night long wherever the moving waters gleam, + The little hills hearken, hearken, the great hills hear and dream. + And Malyn keeps the marshes all the sweet summer night, + Alone, foot-free, to follow a wandering wisp-light. + For every day at sundown, at the first beacon's gleam, + She calls the gulls her brothers and keeps a tryst with them. + "O gulls, white gulls, what see you beyond the sloping blue? + And where away's the Snowflake, she's so long overdue?" + Then, as the gloaming settles, the hilltop stars emerge + And watch that plaintive figure patrol the dark sea verge. + She follows the marsh fire; her heart laughs and is glad; + She knows that light to seaward is her own sailor lad! + What are these tales they tell her of wreckage on the shore? + Delay but makes his coming the nearer than before! + Surely her eyes have sighted his schooner in the lift! + But the great tide he homes on sets with an outward drift. + So will-o'-the-wisp deludes her till dawn, and she turns home + In unperturbed assurance, "To-morrow he will come." + This is the tale of Malyn, whom sudden grief so marred. + And still each lovely summer resumes that sweet regard,-- + The old unvexed eternal indifference to pain; + The sea sings in the marshes, and June comes back again. + All night the lapsing rivers lisp in the long dike grass, + And many memories whisper the sea-winds as they pass; + The tides disturb the silence; but not a hindrance bars + The wash of time, where founder even the galleon stars. + And all night long wherever the moving waters gleam, + The little hills hearken, hearken, the great hills hear and dream. + + + + +THE NANCY'S PRIDE + + On the long slow heave of a lazy sea, + To the flap of an idle sail, + The Nancy's Pride went out on the tide; + And the skipper stood by the rail. + + All down, all down by the sleepy town, + With the hollyhocks a-row + In the little poppy gardens, + The sea had her in tow. + + They let her slip by the breathing rip, + Where the bell is never still, + And over the sounding harbor bar, + And under the harbor hill. + + She melted into the dreaming noon, + Out of the drowsy land, + In sight of a flag of goldy hair, + To the kiss of a girlish hand. + + For the lass who hailed the lad who sailed, + Was--who but his April bride? + And of all the fleet of Grand Latite, + Her pride was the Nancy's Pride. + + So the little vessel faded down + With her creaking boom a-swing, + Till a wind from the deep came up with a creep, + And caught her wing and wing. + + She made for the lost horizon line, + Where the clouds a-castled lay, + While the boil and seethe of the open sea + Hung on her frothing way. + + She lifted her hull like a breasting gull + Where the rolling valleys be, + And dipped where the shining porpoises + Put ploughshares through the sea. + + A fading sail on the far sea-line, + About the turn of the tide, + As she made for the Banks on her maiden cruise, + Was the last of the Nancy's Pride. + + To-day a boy with goldy hair, + In a garden of Grand Latite, + From his mother's knee looks out to sea + For the coming of the fleet. + + They all may home on a sleepy tide, + To the flap of the idle sail; + But it's never again the Nancy's Pride + That answers a human hail. + + They all may home on a sleepy tide + To the sag of an idle sheet; + But it's never again the Nancy's Pride + That draws men down the street. + + On the Banks to-night a fearsome sight + The fishermen behold, + Keeping the ghost watch in the moon + When the small hours are cold. + + When the light wind veers, and the white fog clears, + They see by the after rail + An unknown schooner creeping up + With mildewed spar and sail. + + Her crew lean forth by the rotting shrouds, + With the Judgment in their face; + And to their mates' "God save you!" + Have never a word of grace. + + Then into the gray they sheer away, + On the awful polar tide; + And the sailors know they have seen the wraith + Of the missing Nancy's Pride. + + + + +ARNOLD, MASTER OF THE SCUD + + There's a schooner out from Kingsport, + Through the morning's dazzle-gleam, + Snoring down the Bay of Fundy + With a norther on her beam. + + How the tough wind springs to wrestle, + When the tide is on the flood! + And between them stands young daring-- + Arnold, master of the Scud. + + He is only "Martin's youngster," + To the Minas coasting fleet, + "Twelve year old, and full of Satan + As a nut is full of meat." + + With a wake of froth behind him, + And the gold green waste before, + Just as though the sea this morning + Were his boat pond by the door, + + Legs a-straddle, grips the tiller + This young waif of the old sea; + When the wind comes harder, only + Laughs "Hurrah!" and holds her free. + + Little wonder, as you watch him + With the dash in his blue eye, + Long ago his father called him + "Arnold, Master," on the sly, + + While his mother's heart foreboded + Reckless father makes rash son. + So to-day the schooner carries + Just these two whose will is one. + + Now the wind grows moody, shifting + Point by point into the east. + Wing and wing the Scud is flying + With her scuppers full of yeast. + + And the father's older wisdom + On the sea-line has descried, + Like a stealthy cloud-bank making + Up to windward with the tide, + + Those tall navies of disaster, + The pale squadrons of the fog, + That maraud this gray world border + Without pilot, chart, or log, + + Ranging wanton as marooners + From Minudie to Manan. + "Heave to, and we'll reef, my master!" + Cries he; when no will of man + + Spills the foresail, but a clumsy + Wind-flaw with a hand like stone + Hurls the boom round. In an instant + Arnold, Master, there alone + + Sees a crushed corpse shot to seaward, + With the gray doom in its face; + And the climbing foam receives it + To its everlasting place. + + What does Arnold, Master, think you? + Whimper like a child for dread? + That's not Arnold. Foulest weather + Strongest sailors ever bred. + + And this slip of taut sea-faring + Grows a man who throttles fear. + Let the storm and dark in spite now + Do their worst with valor here! + + Not a reef and not a shiver, + While the wind jeers in her shrouds, + And the flauts of foam and sea-fog + Swarm upon her deck in crowds, + + Flies the Scud like a mad racer; + And with iron in his frown, + Holding hard by wrath and dreadnought, + Arnold, Master, rides her down. + + Let the taffrail shriek through foam-heads! + Let the licking seas go glut + Elsewhere their old hunger, baffled! + Arnold's making for the Gut. + + Cleft sheer down, the sea-wall mountains + Give that one port on the coast; + Made, the Basin lies in sunshine! + Missed, the little Scud is lost! + + Come now, fog-horn, let your warning + Rip the wind to starboard there! + Suddenly that burly-throated + Welcome ploughs the cumbered air. + + The young master hauls a little, + Crowds her up and sheets her home, + Heading for the narrow entry + Whence the safety signals come. + + Then the wind lulls, and an eddy + Tells of ledges, where away; + Veers the Scud, sheet free, sun breaking, + Through the rifts, and--there's the bay! + + Like a bird in from the storm-beat, + As the summer sun goes down, + Slows the schooner to her moorings + By the wharf at Digby town. + + All the world next morning wondered. + Largest letters, there it stood, + "Storm in Fundy. A Boy's Daring. + Arnold, Master of the Scud." + + + + +THE SHIPS OF ST. JOHN + + Smile, you inland hills and rivers! + Flush, you mountains in the dawn! + But my roving heart is seaward + With the ships of gray St. John. + + Fair the land lies, full of August, + Meadow island, shingly bar, + Open barns and breezy twilight, + Peace and the mild evening star. + + Gently now this gentlest country + The old habitude takes on, + But my wintry heart is outbound + With the great ships of St. John. + + Once in your wide arms you held me, + Till the man-child was a man, + Canada, great nurse and mother + Of the young sea-roving clan. + + Always your bright face above me + Through the dreams of boyhood shone; + Now far alien countries call me + With the ships of gray St. John. + + Swing, you tides, up out of Fundy! + Blow, you white fogs, in from sea! + I was born to be your fellow; + You were bred to pilot me. + + At the touch of your strong fingers, + Doubt, the derelict, is gone; + Sane and glad I clear the headland + With the white ships of St. John. + + Loyalists, my fathers, builded + This gray port of the gray sea, + When the duty to ideals + Could not let well-being be. + + When the breadth of scarlet bunting + Puts the wreath of maple on, + I must cheer too,--slip my moorings + With the ships of gray St. John. + + Peerless-hearted port of heroes, + Be a word to lift the world, + Till the many see the signal + Of the few once more unfurled. + + Past the lighthouse, past the nunbuoy, + Past the crimson rising sun, + There are dreams go down the harbor + With the tall ships of St. John. + + In the morning I am with them + As they clear the island bar,-- + Fade, till speck by speck the midday + Has forgotten where they are. + + But I sight a vaster sea-line, + Wider lee-way, longer run, + Whose discoverers return not + With the ships of gray St. John. + + + + +THE KING OF YS + + Wild across the Breton country, + Fabled centuries ago, + Riding from the black sea border, + Came the squadrons of the snow. + + Piping dread at every latch-hole, + Moaning death at every sill, + The white Yule came down in vengeance + Upon Ys, and had its will. + + Walled and dreamy stood the city, + Wide and dazzling shone the sea, + When the gods set hand to smother + Ys, the pride of Brittany. + + Morning drenched her towers in purple; + Light of heart were king and fool; + Fair forebode the merrymaking + Of the seven days of Yule. + + Laughed the king, "Once more, my mistress, + Time and place and joy are one!" + Bade the balconies with banners + Match the splendor of the sun; + + Eyes of urchins shine with silver, + And with gold the pavement ring; + Bade the war-horns sound their bravest + In _The Mistress of the King_. + + Mountebanks and ballad-mongers + And all strolling traffickers + Should block up the market corners + With none other name than hers. + + Laughed the fool, "To-day, my Folly, + Thou shalt be the king of Ys!" + O wise fool! How long must wisdom + Under motley hold her peace? + + Then the storm came down. The valleys + Wailed and ciphered to the dune + Like huge organ pipes; a midnight + Stalked those gala streets at noon; + + And the sea rose, rocked and tilted + Like a beaker in the hand, + Till the moon-hung tide broke tether + And stampeded in for land. + + All day long with doom portentous, + Shreds of pennons shrieked and flew + Over Ys; and black fear shuddered + On the hearthstone all night through. + + Fear, which freezes up the marrow + Of the heart, from door to door + Like a plague went through the city, + And filled up the devil's score; + + Filled her tally of the craven, + To the sea-wind's dismal note; + While a panic superstition + Took the people by the throat. + + As with morning still the sea rose + With vast wreckage on the tide, + And their pasture rills, grown rivers, + Thundered in the mountain side, + + "Vengeance, vengeance, gods to vengeance!" + Rose a storm of muttering; + And the human flood came pouring + To the palace of the king. + + "Save, O king, before we perish + In the whirlpools of the sea, + Ys thy city, us thy people!" + Growled the king then, "What would ye?" + + But his wolf's eyes talked defiance, + And his bearded mouth meant scorn. + "O our king, the gods are angry; + And no longer to be borne + + "Is the shameless face that greets us + From thy windows, at thy side, + Smiling infamy. And therefore + Thou shall take her up, and ride + + "Down with her into the sea's mouth, + And there leave her; else we die, + And thy name goes down to story + A new word for cruelty." + + Ah, but she was fair, this woman! + Warm and flaxen waved her hair; + Her blue Breton eyes made summer + In that bleak December air. + + There she stood whose burning beauty + Made the world's high roof tree ring, + A white poppy tall and wind-blown + In the garden of the king. + + Her throat shook, but not with terror; + Her eyes swam, but not with fear; + While her two hands caught and clung to + The one man they had found dear. + + "Lord and lover,"--thus she smiled him + Her last word,--"it shall be so, + Only the sea's arms shall hold me, + When from out thine arms I go." + + Swore he, "By the gods, my mistress, + Thou shall have queen's burial. + Pearls and amber shall thy tomb be; + Shot with gold and green thy pall. + + "And a million-throated chorus + Shall take up thy dirge to-night; + Where thy slumber's starry watch-fires + Shall a thousand years be bright." + + Then they brought the coal-black stallion, + Chafing on the bit. Astride + Sprang the young king; shouted, "Way there!" + Caught the girl up to his side; + + And a path through that scared rabble + Rode in pageant to the sea. + And the coal-black mane was mingled + With gold hair against his knee. + + Sure as the wild gulls make seaward, + From the west gate to the beach + Rode these two for whom now freedom + Landward lay beyond their reach. + + And the great horse, scenting peril, + Snorted at the flying spume, + Flicked with courage, as how often, + When the tides were racing doom, + + Ridden, he had plunged to rescue + From that seething icy hell + Some poor sailor wrecked a-fishing + On the coast. What fears should quell + + That high spirit? Knee to shoulder, + King and stallion reared and sprang + Clear above the long white combers + And that turmoil's iron clang. + + What a launching! For a moment, + While the tempest held its breath + And a thousand eyes looked wonder, + Swimming in that trough of death, + + Steering seaward through the welter, + Ere they settled out of sight, + Waved above them one gold streamer. + Valor, bid the world good-night!... + + Not a trace, while the long summers + Warm the heart of Brittany, + Save one stone of Ys, as remnant, + For a white mark in the sea. + + + + +THE KELPIE RIDERS + + +I + + Buried alive in calm Rochelle, + Six in a row by a crystal well, + + All Summer long on Bareau Fen + Slumber and sleep the Kelpie men; + + By the side of each to cheer his ghost, + A flagon of foam with a crumpet of frost. + + Hear me, friends, for the years are fleet; + Soon I leave the noise and the street + + For the silent uncompanioned way + Where the inn is cold and the night is gray. + + But noon is warm and the world is still + Where the Kelpie riders have their will. + + For never a wind dare stir or stray + Over those marshes salt and gray; + + No bit of shade as big as your hand + To traverse or trammel the sleeping land, + + Save where a dozen poplars fleck + The long gray grass and the well's blue beck. + + Yet you mark their leaves are blanched and sear, + Whispering daft at a nameless fear. + + While round the hole of one is a rune, + Black in the wash of the bleaching noon. + + "Ride, for the wind is awake and away. + Sleep, for the harvest grain is gray." + + No word more. And many a mile, + A ghostly bivouac rank and file, + + They sleep to-day on the marshes wide; + Some far night they will wake and ride. + + Once they were riders hot with speed, + "Kelpie, Kelpie, gallop at need!" + + With hills of the barren sea to roam, + Housing their horses on the foam. + + But earth is cool and the hush is long + Beneath the lull of the slumber song + + The crickets falter and strive to tell + To the dragon-fly of the crystal well; + + And love is a forgotten jest, + Where the Kelpie riders take their rest, + + And blossoming grasses hour by hour + Burn in the bud and freeze in the flower. + + But never again shall their roving be + On the shifting hills of the tumbling sea, + + With the salt, and the rain, and the glad desire + Strong as the wind and pure as fire. + +II + + One doomful night in the April tide + With riot of brooks on the mountain side, + + The goblin maidens of the hills + Went forth to the revel-call of the rills. + + Many as leaves of the falling year, + To the swing of a ballad wild and clear + + They held the plain and the uplands high; + And the merry-dancers held the sky. + + The Kelpie riders abroad on the sea + Caught sound of that call of eerie glee, + + Over their prairie waste and wan; + And the goblin maidens tolled them on. + + The yellow eyes and the raven hair + And the tawny arms blown fresh and bare, + + Were more than a mortal might behold + And live with the saints for a crown of gold. + + The Kelpie riders were stricken sore; + They wavered, and wheeled, and rode for the shore. + + "Kelpie, Kelpie, treble your stride! + Never again on the sea we ride. + + "Kelpie, Kelpie, out of the storm; + On, for the fields of earth are warm!" + + Knee to knee they are riding in: + "Brother, brother,--the goblin kin!" + + The meadows rocked as they clomb the scaur; + The pines re-echo for evermore + + The sound of the host of Kelpie men; + But the windflowers died on Bareau Fen. + + Over the marshes all night long + The stars went round to a riding song: + + "Kelpie, Kelpie, carry us through!" + And the goblin maidens danced thereto. + + Till dawn,--and the revel died with a shout, + For the ocean riders were wearied out. + + They looked, and the grass was warm and soft; + The dreamy clouds went over aloft; + + A gloom of pines on the weather verge + Had the lulling sound of their own white surge; + + A whip-poor-will, far from their din, + Was saying his litanies therein. + + Then voices neither loud nor deep: + "Tired, so tired; sleep! ah, sleep! + + "The stars are calm, and the earth is warm, + But the sea for an earldom is given to storm. + + "Come now, inherit the houses of doom; + Your fields of the sun shall be harried of gloom." + + They laid them down; but over long + They rest,--for the goblin maids are strong. + + The sun goes round; and Bareau Fen + Is a door of earth on the Kelpie men,-- + + Buried at dawn, asleep, unslain, + With not a mound on the sunny plain, + + Hard by the walls of calm Rochelle, + Row on row by the crystal well. + + And never again they are free to ride + Through all the years on the tossing tide, + + Barred from the breast of the barren foam, + Where the heart within them is yearning home,-- + + For one long drench of the surf to quell + The cursing doom of the goblin spell. + + Only, when bugling snows alight + To smother the marshes stark and white, + + Or a low red moon peers over the rim + Of a winter twilight crisp and dim, + + With a sound of drift on the buried lands, + The goblin maidens loose their hands; + + A wind comes down from the sheer blue North; + And the Kelpie riders get them forth. + +III + + Twice have I been on Bareau Fen, + But the son of my son is a man since then. + + Once as a lad I used to bear + St. Louis' cross through the chapel square, + + Leading the choristers' surpliced file + Slow up the dusk Cathedral aisle. + + I was the boy of all Rochelle + The pure old father trusted well. + + But one clear night in the winter's heart, + I wandered out to that place apart. + + The shafts of smoke went up to the stars, + Straight as the Northern Streamer spars, + + From the town's white roofs, so still it was. + The night in her dream let no word pass, + + Nor ever a breath that one could feel; + Only the snow shrieked under my heel. + + Yet it seemed when I reached the poplar hole, + The ghost of a voice was crying, "Skoal! + + "Rouse thee and drink, for the well is sweet, + And the crystal snow is good to eat!" + + I heeded little, but stooped on my knee, + And ate of a handful dreamily. + + 'Twas cool to the mouth and slaking at first, + But the lure of it was ill for thirst. + + The voice cried, "Soul of the mortal span, + Art thou not of the Kelpie clan?" + + "What are you doing there in the ground, + Kelpie rider, and never a sound + + "To roam the night but the ghost of a cry?" + Ringing and swift there came reply, + + "He is asleep where thou art afraid, + In the tawny arms of a goblin maid!" + + Then I knew the voice was the voice of a girl, + And I marvelled much (while a little swirl + + Of snow leaped up far off on the plain + Of sparkling dust and died again), + + For what do the cloisters know, think ye, + Of women's ways? They be hard to see. + + Again the voice cried, "Kin of my kin, + The child of the Sun shall win, shall win!" + + 'Twas an evil weird that so befell; + Yet I leaned and drank of the bubbling well. + + I looked for my face in the crystal spring, + But the face that flickered there was a thing + + To make the nape of your neck grow chill, + And every vein surge back and thrill + + With a passion for something not their own-- + In a life their life has never known. + + For raven hair and eyes like the sun + Are merry but dour to look upon. + + She smiled through her lashes under the wave, + And my soul went forth her bartered slave. + + I swore, "By St. Louis, I'll come to thee, + Though I ride to my doom in the gulfs of the sea! + + "Thy Kelpie rider shall wake and rue + His ruined life in the loss of you." + + Then I fled in the start of a terror of joy, + O'er leagues where a legion might deploy; + + For the acres of snow were level and hard, + Every flake like a crystal shard. + + I was the runner of all Rochelle, + Could run with the hounds on Haric Fell; + + And something stark as a gust of the sea + Had a grip of the whimsy boy in me. + + I ran like the drift on the ice low curled + When the winds of Yule are abroad on the world. + + Sudden, the beat of a throbbing sound + Lost in the core of the blue profound: + + "Kelpie, Kelpie, Kelpie, come!" + Was it my heart?--But my heart was numb. + + "Kelpie, Kelpie!" Was it the sea? + Far on, at the verge of Bareau lea, + + I saw like an army, shield and casque, + The breakers roll in the Roads of Basque. + + "Kelpie, Kelpie!" Was it the wolves? + In the dusk of pines where night dissolves + + To streamers and stars through the mountain gorge, + I heard the blast of a giant forge. + + Then I knew the wind was awake from the North, + And the ocean riders were freed and forth. + + Time, there is time (now gallop, my heart!) + Ere the black riders disperse and depart. + + The dawn is late, but the dawn comes round, + And Fleetfoot Jean has the wind of a hound. + + The hue and cry of the Kelpie horde + Was growing and grim on that white seaboard. + + It rolled and gathered and died and grew + Far off to the rear; a smile thereto + + I turned; a fathom behind my ear + A rider rode with a shadowy leer. + + I sickened and sped. He laughed aloud, + "Wind for a mourner, snow for a shroud!" + + On and on, half blown, half blind, + Shadow and self, and the wind behind! + + I slackened, he slackened; I fled, he flew; + In a swirl of snow-drift all night through + + I scoured along the gusty fen, + A quarry for hunting Kelpie men. + + But only one could hold at my side: + "Brother, brother, I love thy stride. + + "Wilt thou follow thy whim to win + My merry maid of the goblin kin?" + + I swerved from my trail, for he haunted my ear + With his moaning jibe and his shadowy leer. + + So by good hap as we sped it fell, + I fetched a circuit back for the well. + + Like a spilth of spume on the crest of the bore + When the combing tides make in for shore, + + That runner ran whose love was a wraith; + But the rider rode with revenge in his teeth. + + Another league, and I touch the goal,-- + The mystic rune on the poplar bole,-- + + When the dusky eyes and the raven hair + And the lithe brown arms shall greet me there. + + I ran like a harrier on the trace + In the leash of that ghoul, and the wind gave chase. + + A furlong now; I caught the gleam + Of the bubbling well with its tiny stream; + + An arrowy burst; I cleared the beck; + And--the Kelpie rider bestrode my neck. + + * * * * * + + Dawn, the still red winter dawn; + I awoke on the plain; the wind was gone;-- + + All gracious and good as when God made + The living creatures, and none was afraid. + + I stooped to drink of the wholesome spring + Under the poplars whispering: + + Face to my face in that water clear-- + The Kelpie rider's jabbering leer! + + Ah, God! not me: I was never so! + Sainted Louis, who can know + + The lords of life from the slaves of death? + What help avail the speeding breath + + Of the spirit that knows not self's abode,-- + When the soul is lost that knows not God? + + I turned me home by St. Louis' Hall, + Where the red sun burns on the windows tall. + + And I thought the world was strange and wild, + And God with his altar only a child. + +IV + + Again one year in the prime of June, + I came to the well in the heated noon, + + Leaving Rochelle with its red roof tiles + By the Pottery Gate before St. Giles,-- + + There where the flower market is, + Where every morning up from Duprisse + + The flower girls come by the long white lane + That skirts the edge of Bareau plain;-- + + To the North, the city wall in the sun, + To the left, the fen where the eye may run + + And have its will of the blazing blue. + The while I loitered the market through, + + Halting a moment to converse + With old Babette who had been my nurse, + + There passed through the stalls a woman, bright + With a kirtle of cinnabar and white + + Among the kerseys blue; and I said, + "Who is it, Babette, with lifted head, + + "And the startled look, possessed and strange, + Under the paint--secure from change?" + + "Ah, 'Sieur Jean, do ye not ken + Of the eerie folk of Bareau Fen?" + + I blenched, and she knew too well I wist + The fearsome fate of the goblin tryst. + + "The street is a cruel home, 'Sieur Jean, + But a weird uncanny drives her on. + + "'Tis a bitter tale for Christian folk, + How once she dreamed, and how she woke." + + "Ay, ay!" I passed and reached the spring + Where the poplars kept their whispering, + + Hid for an hour in the shade, + In the rank marsh grass of a tiny glade. + + There crossed the moor from the town afar, + In kirtle of white and cinnabar, + + A wanderer on that plain of tears, + Bowed with a burden not of the years, + + As one that goeth sorrowing + For many an unforgotten thing. + + To the crystal well as the sun drew low + There came that harridan of woe. + + She stooped to drink; I heard her cry: + "Ah, God, how tired out am I! + + "I called him by the dearest name + A girl may call; I have my shame. + + "'Yet death is crueller than life,' + Once they said, 'for all the strife.' + + "And so I lived; but the wild will, + Broken and bitter, drives to ill. + + "And now I know, what no one saith, + That love is crueller than death. + + "How I did love him! Is love too high, + My God, for such lost folk as I?" + + Her tears went down to the grass by the well, + In that passion of grief, and where they fell + + Windflowers trembled pale and white. + A craven I crept away from the sight; + + And turned me home to St. Louis' Hall, + Where the sunflowers burn by the eastern wall. + + The vesper frankincense that day + Rose to the rafters and melted away, + + And was no more than a cloud that stirs + Among the spires of Norway firs. + + And I said, "The holy solitude + Of the hoary crypt and the wild green wood + + "Are one to the God I have never known, + Whose kingdom has neither bourn nor throne." + +V + + Now I am old, and the years delay; + But I know, I know, there will come a day,-- + + When April is over the Norland town. + And the loosened brooks from the hills go down, + + When tears have quenched the sorrow of time,-- + Wherein the earth shall rebuild her prime, + + And the houses of dark be overthrown; + When the goblin maids shall love their own,-- + + Their arms forever unlaced from their hold + Of the earls of the sea on that alien wold,-- + + And the feckless light of their golden eyes + Shall forget the desire that made them wise; + + When the hands of the foam shall beckon and flee. + And the Kelpie riders ride for the sea; + + And the whip-poor-will the whole night long + Repeat his litanies of song, + + Till morning whiten the world again, + And the flowers revive on Bareau Fen, + + Over the acres of calm Rochelle + Fresh by the stream of the crystal well. + + + + +NOONS OF POPPY + + Noons of poppy, noons of poppy, + Scarlet leagues along the sea; + Flaxen hair afloat in sunlight, + Love, come down the world to me! + + There's a Captain I must ship with, + (Heart, that day be far from now!) + Wears his dark command in silence + With the sea-frost on his brow. + + Noons of poppy, noons of poppy, + Purple shadows by the sea; + How should love take thought to wonder + What the destined port may be? + + Nay, if love have joy for shipmate + For a night-watch or a year, + Dawn will light o'er Lonely Haven, + Heart to happy heart, as here. + + Noons of poppy, noons of poppy, + Scarlet acres by the sea + Burning to the blue above them; + Love, the world is full for me. + + + + +LEGENDS OF LOST HAVEN + + There are legends of Lost Haven, + Come, I know not whence, to me, + When the wind is in the clover, + When the sun is on the sea. + + There are rumors in the pine-tops, + There are whispers in the grass; + And the flocking crows at nightfall + Bring home hints of things that pass + + Out upon the broad dike yonder, + All day long beneath the sun, + Where the tall ships cloud and settle + Down the sea-curve, one by one. + + And the crickets in fine chorus-- + Every slim and tiny reed-- + Strive to chord the broken rhythmus + Of the world, and half succeed. + + There are myriad traditions + Treasured by the talking rain; + And with memories the moonlight + Walks the cold and silent plain. + + Where the river tells his hill-tales + To the lone complaining bar, + Where the midgets thread their dances + To the yellow twilight star, + + Where the blossom bends to hearken + To the bee with velvet bands, + There are chronicles enciphered + Of the yet uncharted lands. + + All the musical marauders + Of the berry and the bloom + Sing the lure of soul's illusion + Out of darkness, out of doom. + + But the sure and great evangel + Comes when half alone I hear, + At the rosy door of silence, + Love, the lord of speech, draw near. + + Then for once across the threshold, + Darkling spirit, thou art free,-- + As thy hope is every ship makes + Some lost haven of the sea. + + + + +THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN + + Don't you know the sailing orders? + It is time to put to sea, + And the stranger in the harbor + Sends a boat ashore for me. + + With the thunder of her canvas + Coming on the wind again, + I can hear the Shadow Boatswain + Piping to his shadow men. + + Is it firelight or morning, + That red flicker on the floor? + Your good-by was braver, sweetheart, + When I sailed away before. + + Think of this last lovely summer! + Love, what ails the wind to-night? + What's he saying in the chimney + Turns your berry cheek so white? + + What a morning! How the sunlight + Sparkles on the outer bay, + Where the brig lies waiting for me + To trip anchor and away! + + That's the Doomkeel. You may know her + By her clean run aft; and, then, + Don't you hear the Shadow Boatswain + Piping to his shadow men? + + Off the freshening sea to windward, + Is it a white tern I hear + Shrilling in the gusty weather + Where the far sea-line is clear? + + What a morning for departure! + How your blue eyes melt and shine! + Will you watch us from the headland + Till we sink below the line? + + I can see the wind already + Steer the scurf marks of the tide, + As we slip the wake of being + Down the sloping world and wide. + + I can feel the vasty mountains + Heave and settle under me, + And the Doomkeel veer and shudder, + Crumbling on the hollow sea. + + There's a call, as when a white gull + Cries and beats across the blue; + That must be the Shadow Boatswain + Piping to his shadow crew. + + There's a boding sound, like winter + When the pines begin to quail; + That must be the gray wind moaning + In the belly of the sail. + + I can feel the icy fingers + Creeping in upon my bones; + There must be a berg to windward + Somewhere in these border zones. + + Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,-- + Always loved my shipmate sun. + How the sunflowers beckon to me + From the dooryard one by one! + + How the royal lady roses + Strew this summer world of ours! + There'll be none in Lonely Haven; + It is too far north for flowers. + + There, sweetheart! And I must leave you. + What should touch my wife with tears? + There's no danger with the Master; + He has sailed the sea for years. + + With the sea-wolves on her quarter, + And a white bone in her teeth, + He will steer the shadow cruiser, + Dark before and doom beneath, + + Down the last expanse, till morning + Flares above the broken sea, + And the midnight storm is over, + And the Isles are close alee. + + So some twilight, when your roses + Are all blown and it is June, + You will turn your blue eyes seaward + Through the white dusk of the moon, + + Wondering, as that far sea-cry + Comes upon the wind again, + And you hear the Shadow Boatswain + Piping to his shadow men. + + + + +THE MASTER OF THE ISLES + + There is rumor in Dark Harbor, + And the folk are all astir; + For a stranger in the offing + Draws them down to gaze at her, + + In the gray of early morning, + Black against the orange streak, + Making in below the ledges, + With no colors at her peak. + + Something makes their hearts uneasy + As they watch the long black hull, + For she brings the storm behind her + While before her there is lull. + + With no pilot and unspoken, + Where the dancing breakers are, + Presently she veers and races + In across the roaring bar,-- + + Rounds and luffs and comes to anchor, + While the wharf begins to throng. + Silence falls upon the women. + And misgiving stirs the strong. + + Then with some obscure foreboding, + As a gray-haired watcher smiles, + They perceive the fearless captain + Is the Master of the Isles. + + They recall the bleak December + Many streaming years ago, + When the stranger had been sighted + Driving shoreward with the snow; + + When the Master came among them + With his calm and courtly pride, + And had sailed away at sundown + With pale Dora for his bride; + + How again he came one summer + When the herring schools were late, + And had cleared before the morning + With old Alec's son for mate. + + There was glamour with the Master; + He had tales of far-off seas; + But his habit and demeanor + Were of other lands than these. + + He had never made the Harbor + But there sailed away with him + Wife or child or friend or lover, + Leaving eyes to strain and swim,-- + + Strain and wait for their returning; + Yet they never had come back; + For the pale wake of the Master + Is a wandering, fading track. + + Just beyond our utmost fathom + Is the anchorage we crave, + But the Master knows the soundings + By the reach of every wave. + + Just beyond the last horizon, + Vague upon the weather-gleam, + Loom the Faroff Isles forever, + The tradition of a dream. + + There a white and brooding summer + Haunts upon the gray sea-plain, + Where the gray sea-winds are quiet + At the sources of the rain. + + There where all world-weary dreamers + Get them forth to their release, + Lie the colonies of the kindred, + In the provinces of peace. + + Thither in the stormy sunset + Will the Master sail to-night; + And the village will be silent + When he drops below the light. + + Not a soul on all the hillside + But will watch her when she clears, + Dreaming of the Port o' Strangers + In the roadstead of the years. + + "Port o' Strangers, Port o' Strangers!" + "Where away?" "On the weather bow." + "Drive her down the closing distance!"... + That's to-morrow, but not now. + + What imperial adventure + Some wide morning it will be, + Sweeping in to Lonely Haven + From the chartless round of sea! + + How imposing a departure, + While this little harbor smiles, + Steering for the outer sea-rim + With the Master of the Isles! + + + + +THE LAST WATCH + + Comrades, comrades, have me buried + Like a warrior of the sea, + With a flag across my breast + And my sword upon my knee. + + Steering out from vanished headlands + For a harbor on no chart, + With the winter in the rigging, + With the ice-wind in my heart, + + Down the bournless slopes of sea-room, + With the long gray wake behind, + I have sailed my cruiser steady + With no pilot but the wind. + + Battling with relentless pirates + From the lower seas of Doom, + I have kept the colors flying + Through the roar of drift and gloom. + + Scudding where the shadow foemen + Hang about us grim and stark, + Broken spars and shredded canvas, + We are racing for the dark. + + Sped and blown abaft the sunset + Like a shriek the storm has caught; + But the helm is lashed to windward, + And the sails are sheeted taut. + + Comrades, comrades, have me buried + Like a warrior of the night. + I can hear the bell-buoy calling + Down below the harbor light + + Steer in shoreward, loose the signal, + The last watch has been cut short; + Speak me kindly to the islesmen, + When we make the foreign port. + + We shall make it ere the morning + Rolls the fog from strait and bluff; + Where the offing crimsons eastward + There is anchorage enough. + + How I wander in my dreaming! + Are we northing nearer home, + Or outbound for fresh adventure + On the reeling plains of foam? + + North I think it is, my comrades, + Where one heart-beat counts for ten, + Where the loving hand is loyal, + And the women's sons are men; + + Where the red auroras tremble + When the polar night is still, + Lighting home the worn seafarers + To their haven in the hill. + + Comrades, comrades, have me buried + Like a warrior of the North. + Lower me the long-boat, stay me + In your arms, and bear me forth; + + Lay me in the sheets and row me, + With the tiller in my hand, + Row me in below the beacon + Where my sea-dogs used to land. + + Has your captain lost his cunning + After leading you so far? + Row me your last league, my sea-kings; + It is safe within the bar. + + Shoulder me and house me hillward, + Where the field-lark makes his bed, + So the gulls can wheel above me, + All day long when I am dead; + + Where the keening wind can find me + With the April rain for guide, + And come crooning her old stories + Of the kingdoms of the tide. + + Comrades, comrades, have me buried + Like a warrior of the sun; + I have carried my sealed orders + Till the last command is done. + + Kiss me on the cheek for courage, + (There is none to greet me home,) + Then farewell to your old lover + Of the thunder of the foam; + + For the grass is full of slumber + In the twilight world for me, + And my tired hands are slackened + From their toiling on the sea. + + + + +OUTBOUND + + A lonely sail in the vast sea-room, + I have put out for the port of gloom. + + The voyage is far on the trackless tide, + The watch is long, and the seas are wide. + + The headlands blue in the sinking day + Kiss me a hand on the outward way. + + The fading gulls, as they dip and veer, + Lift me a voice that is good to hear. + + The great winds come, and the heaving sea, + The restless mother, is calling me. + + The cry of her heart is lone and wild, + Searching the night for her wandered child. + + Beautiful, weariless mother of mine, + In the drift of doom I am here, I am thine. + + Beyond the fathom of hope or fear, + From bourn to bourn of the dusk I steer, + + Swept on in the wake of the stars, in the stream + Of a roving tide, from dream to dream. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads of Lost Haven, by Bliss Carman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS OF LOST HAVEN *** + +***** This file should be named 18268.txt or 18268.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/2/6/18268/ + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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