Add files from ibiblio as of 2025-03-07 14:40:47HEADmain

1 files changed, 2567 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/43739-0.txt b/43739-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e412c92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/43739-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,2567 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43739 ***
+
+Songs of Sea and Sail
+
+
+
+
+_SONGS OF
+SEA AND SAIL_
+
+_THOMAS FLEMING DAY_
+
+
+NEW YORK AND LONDON
+THE RUDDER PUBLISHING COMPANY
+1898
+
+
+_Copyright 1898_
+
+By THOMAS FLEMING DAY
+
+_All Rights Reserved_
+
+Press Of
+Thomson & Co.
+New York
+
+
+_TO
+THOSE WHO LOVE
+THE SEA
+AND ITS SHIPS._
+
+
+
+
+_CONTENTS._
+
+
+                                 PAGE
+  The Mermaid's Song             9
+  Trafalgar                      13
+  When                           18
+  The Forsaken Port              19
+  An Early Moonset               24
+  On the Bridge                  25
+  Missing                        30
+  Making Land                    31
+  At Portsmouth                  35
+  At Anchor                      39
+  From the Cliff                 40
+  Then and Now                   42
+  The Ships                      43
+  The Man-o'-War's Man's Yarn    49
+  A Foggy Morning                53
+  Unknown                        55
+  The Coasters                   57
+  To-Day                         62
+  The Sailor of the Sail         63
+  The Yacht                      68
+  The Trade Wind's Song          69
+  Execution Rock Light           71
+  The Cargo Boats                73
+  Noontide Calm                  77
+  Old Buccaneer's Song           81
+  The Belfry of the Sea          85
+  Phantoms                       95
+  Flotsam                        98
+  The Lost Ship                  99
+  The Main Sheet Song            101
+  The Landfall                   103
+  The Clipper                    104
+  The Constitution               105
+  The Tartar                     107
+  Warning                        110
+  In September                   111
+  The Homeward Bounder's Song    113
+  The Spell of the Sea           115
+  Days of Oak                    117
+  Long, Long Ago                 119
+  Wind Happy Ships               122
+  The Quest                      123
+
+
+
+
+  THE MERMAID'S SONG.
+
+
+  Oh, what comes flowing over the sea
+    In the hush of the evening's cool?
+  It is a mermaid singing to me
+    As she sits in a silver pool.
+
+  As she sits in a silver pool and sings
+  Of the world I never shall see,
+  Where the dulse-weed clings,
+  And the star-fish rings
+    The red anemone;
+  The world which lies
+  Where human eyes
+    Are never allowed to see
+  The gold and gems
+  And fluted stems
+    Of the crimson coral tree--
+    Is that what she sings to me?
+  She is haunting and holding my heart with a strain,
+  Where joy lies asleep in the shadow of pain;
+    And the world that is under the sea
+  Is spreading its pleasures and treasures to gain
+    The love that lies dormant in me--
+    The love that I bear for the sea,
+    For the secret and sorrowful sea;
+  Is luring my feet from the gray land again
+  And filling my soul with the scent of the main,
+    The sound and the scent of the sea;
+  And the speech of the siren is spoken in vain,
+    For that mermaid is singing to me
+    Of the world that is under the sea;
+  And the love that I bear for the ocean again,
+    For the mournful and mutable sea,
+    Has taken possession of me:
+  My heart is enmeshed in the mystical strain
+    That mermaid is singing to me
+    Of the world that lies under the sea.
+  Ah, hark again! In a sadder strain
+    She is singing a song to me--
+    A song of the unseen sea;
+  She is singing of ships whose wrecks have lain
+    For ages in the sea,
+    In the depths of the sunless sea;
+  And her voice is soft with a thought of the pain
+  That song is giving to me.
+  A thought that I thought forever had lain
+    In the depths of the soundless sea
+  Is searching my soul in that mermaid's strain
+    And bringing a sorrow to me
+    From the world that is under the sea.
+  For I have a friend whose bones have lain
+    For ages in the sea,
+    (For so it seems to me),
+  And her song has opened that wound again
+    And brought back a sorrow to me--
+    From the depths of the endless sea.
+  A grief that is grieving my life again,
+  A thought that I thought, forever had lain,
+    And never come back to me,
+  Is searching my soul in that mermaid's strain
+    And bringing a sorrow to me
+    From the world that lies under the sea.
+
+  Oh, what comes flowing over the sea
+    In the hush of the evening's cool?
+  It is a mermaid singing to me
+    As she sits in a silver pool.
+
+
+
+
+  TRAFALGAR, 1805.
+
+
+  We hailed the morning star
+    Above the Spanish shore;
+    Our cannon's random roar
+  Then woke black Trafalgar.
+    Where our foes
+  Lay in the crescent bay
+  We watched the fog bank gray
+  Melt silently away
+    As the sun uprose.
+  Then rolled the deep alarm--
+  The foeman's call to arm;
+  And swiftly from our van
+  There pass'd from man to man,
+    "They will fight."
+  With hearts that beat to chase
+    We caught the growing gale,
+    And 'neath a press of sail
+  Bore up to take our place
+    On the right.
+
+  Nelson, our admiral then,
+  Greatest of all seamen,
+  We cheered to death again
+      As he pass'd;
+    'Round toward the land
+  We tacked and stood about--
+  The hills rang to our shout
+  As lifted and blew out
+    His last command
+      From the mast.
+  Then flash'd our full broadside,
+  Roaring across the tide,
+  As crashing side by side
+    We broke their line;
+  Thro' rolling clouds of smoke
+  Burst in our prows of oak;
+  Their tall sides bent and broke
+    Like pine.
+  As died the stagger'd blast
+  The sails dropt to the mast;
+  That broadside was their last!
+  One more to clip her wing!
+      Quick away!
+  Tigers our boarders spring,
+  Cutlass to cutlass ring,
+      In the fray.
+  We heard no quarter call:
+  A man stood every Gaul!
+  Useless, their flag must fall
+      That day.
+
+  The fight thus well begun,
+    We paused a breathing space;
+    Each soul leapt to a face
+    As Nelson in his grace
+  Signaled "Well done!"
+    Staying the tott'ring mast
+    We rounded to the blast,
+    Grappled the next that pass'd--
+  A huge Spaniard.
+    No room to lift the ports:
+    Black gun to gun retorts--
+    Lip locked to lip,
+    Each man a firmer grip
+  On his lanyard.
+  To save this pride of Spain
+    A Frenchman joined the fight;
+    Then roaring in our might
+    We smote him with our right
+  Twice, and again.
+    "Cease! Cease!" our Captain cries.
+    "She lies
+  A silent wreck!"
+    Three times we spared that foe,
+    Yet from her came the blow
+    That laid our hero low
+  On the deck.
+
+  What more for me to say,
+  Save thro' the fatal fray
+  We marked the hours that day
+    With cheers!
+  Our foes struck one by one;
+  Yet when the fight was done
+  We saw the misty sun
+    Set thro' our tears.
+  O England, strong yet free,
+  The crown we bear to thee,
+  Laurels for victory!
+    Weave cypress in the wreath:
+  For he to whom thou gave
+  The keeping of the wave,
+  Nelson, the true, the brave,
+    Has struck his flag to death.
+
+  Oh, men of hero race,
+  In what a fitting place
+    To set his conquering star!--
+  Amid the battle's roar,
+  Under the rolling shore
+  Where rises wild and hoar
+    Cape Trafalgar.
+
+
+
+
+  WHEN.
+
+
+  When western winds are blowing soft
+    Across the Island Sound;
+  When every sail that draws aloft
+    Is swollen true and round;
+  When yellow shores along the lee
+    Slope upward to the sky;
+  When opal bright the land and sea
+    In changeful contact lie;
+  When idle yachts at anchor swim
+    Above a phantom shape;
+  When spires of canvas dot the rim
+    Which curves from cape to cape;
+  When sea-weed strewn the ebbing tide
+    Pours eastward to the main;
+  When clumsy coasters side by side
+    Tack in and out again--
+  When such a day is mine to live,
+    What has the world beyond to give?
+
+
+
+
+  THE FORSAKEN PORT.
+
+
+  Thro' all this perfect summer day
+    The wind has blown from out the west,
+    And now the sunset fires invest
+  Where looms the mainland far away,
+    The old town right abreast.
+  The red-brown roofs and rugged spires
+  Uplift and pierce the sunset fires,
+    The old town right abreast.
+  The ships rise up, and sail, and sail,
+    Then drop beneath the distant rim--
+    The crimson rim.
+  We watch their topsails float and trail--
+    Like bubbles 'round a goblet's brim,
+  A moment there they rise and dip,
+  Then break against the sky's red lip.
+  Unhailed the ships go sailing by
+    The old town over there;
+  And yet it seems we hear a cry--
+  A heart-born cry
+    Of anguish and despair,
+    Of hope lost in despair.
+  In speechful grief the old town stands
+  And beckons with its outstretched hands
+  As the ships go sailing by.
+  Long years ago its port was thronged
+    With many a busy sail,
+    With rustling sail.
+  And many a heart has sighed and longed
+    For that old town's cheery hail--
+    Has sighed and longed for that old town's welcome hail.
+  Oh, where are they who left thy port
+    In strength of youth, in pride of love?
+  Side by side with a dark consort,
+    Calm seas below, blue skies above,
+  They tacked and stood across the bar:
+  Only the sea knows where they are--
+  Only the sea!
+  Perhaps at night the phantom ships--
+    Thy lost ships--come sailing in;
+  Their spectre crews with parted lips
+  That utter no sound, for the spell of death
+    Turns even a laugh to a grin.
+    Do they wait, and list for the din
+    Of the cheers and the bells to welcome them in--
+    For the cheers and the bells to welcome them in?
+  Do their dead hearts know hopes and fears?
+  Do they dream of the wives they've not seen for years?--
+  The wives and the sweethearts who watched them thro' tears
+  Sail away, sail away, when the wind was south
+  And the bar was blue at the harbor's mouth,
+    And the gulls flew low like flakes of snow,
+  And the summer wind bore the heave-yo-ho
+  Of the sailors brown
+  Into the town?
+  Are they here, the ones so dear?
+    Alas! the lips that their lips have known,
+    Alas! the hearts that once beat to their own
+  Are lying up on the hillside there,
+    And the daisies and grasses have overgrown
+  Their graves for many a year.
+  Yon sentinel pine that watches the graves
+    Where their wives and sweethearts are laid to rest
+  The wild winter wind defies and outbraves;
+    Its roots are sunk in some loved one's breast.
+    Are their souls at rest?
+  Sometimes, I think, they must wander down here
+    To watch for the ships that never will come.
+  In the silence of night they throng the old pier
+    To welcome the wanderers home;
+  Their lustreless eyes--
+    Enough of death and ghostly tales!
+  Oh, let the old town keep its vigil there,
+  Watching for those who were!
+    What though the dark ship with us sails--
+  Ah, fools, to freight our hearts with care!
+    To waste our breath in idle hails,
+    To cringe and cry.
+  We live for those who are, not were!--
+    We live to live, not die!
+
+
+
+
+  AN EARLY MOONSET.
+
+
+  Like galleon flying a picaroon,
+    Along the edge the ship-shap'd moon
+  Leadeth a star across the sea
+    To the cloudy harbor under her lee.
+
+  With her splendid lading of golden light
+    She seems to dread the pirate Night;
+  With puffing sails and fretful oars
+    She steereth and speedeth for purple shores.
+
+  She will anchor to-night beneath the fort
+    Whose grim guns guard the cloudy port,
+  Where sound and safe from picaroon
+    Rides many an olden and golden moon.
+
+
+
+
+  ON THE BRIDGE.
+
+
+  Eight bells ring out from the fo'c'sle head;
+    With a cheery good-eve the mate comes forth,
+  The second goes off to his welcome bed,
+    After giving the course as west by north.
+
+  As I stand with my chin on the dodger's ridge
+    And dreamily eye our plunging craft
+  There's a rattle of heels on the flying bridge
+    And a gruff report that the watch is aft.
+
+  "All right!" says the mate, with a glance below;
+    "Relieve the wheel and the lookout there!"
+  And then we begin, with our to and fro,
+    The walk and the talk we nightly share.
+
+  In silence at first--for our pipes are lit--
+    We pace and puff, and we pause and turn,
+  And it's up and down, for she rolls a bit
+    When flying light with the sea astern.
+
+  But there's a key in the hands of smoke
+    That fits a lock in the lazy brain,
+  And we spring the wards with a quiet joke
+    And rout out a store of yarns again.
+
+  Our voices ring with a pleasant sound,
+    And now and again it seems to me
+  As though in the roar that sweeps around
+    We are joined by the social sea.
+
+  And in that strange way that talk is bred--
+    As a few grains sown bring the wheaty stack--
+  So something afresh the other said
+    Put the roaming brain on another tack.
+
+  And we boxed about in an aimless way,
+    With a careless fling from sea to land,
+  And spoke of the world as a young man may
+    When he hasn't the time to understand.
+
+  We spoke of the land that gave us birth;
+    We spoke of the one that's home to me:
+  Those nations destined to shape the earth
+    To the single state it is to be--
+
+  Of tricks we played in our school-boy days;
+    The fun and frolic of being young;
+  How we jollied life in a hundred ways
+    With gibes that pleased and jests that stung.
+
+  And of those we loved--for now we knew
+    With half our life in the dim astern
+  Which lights were false and which lights were true,
+    And whose was the hand that bid them burn.
+
+  Of the rough hard life the sailor leads,
+    The pay he gets and the sharks ashore,
+  And what are the laws our shipping needs,
+    And the way things went in days of yore.
+
+  Of the sailing ship as she yet survives,
+    Of rigs we never shall see again,
+  Of inventions that save our seamen's lives
+    And murder the breed of sailor men.
+
+  We talk of these and of many a bout
+    When a crew came aft for a nasty row--
+  When loud comes a cry from the fore look-out
+    Of a light on the starboard bow.
+
+  "All right!" the response. Then we train our eyes
+    On the western rim thro' the closing night.
+  It's a steamer, sure, by the flash and size--
+    A liner's electric masthead light.
+
+  She rises fast, and is soon up well,
+    Rushing along 'neath a smoky pall,
+  A mass of lights like some huge hotel
+    Ablaze for its annual boarders' ball.
+
+  As she grows abeam--for we give her space,
+    For twenty knots is a right of way--
+  There's an answering glow on old ocean's face
+    And a glint on the waves in play.
+
+  And I think, as I watch her speed along,
+    Of the many lives she holds in trust,
+  And ponder what they would do, that throng,
+    If Fate should get in a deadly thrust.
+
+  A ship like ours or a sunken wreck--
+    A crash in the dark--some plates stove in--
+  A frightened rush for the upper deck,
+    And a clamorous, cowardly din!
+
+  How some would die as men should die,
+    How some would perish in selfish strife,
+  How some in that hour would dignify
+    By a noble close a worthless life.
+
+  How she whose vigor we oft deride--
+    The woman--would show her courage then,
+  And meet her death at her lover's side
+    In a way to shame the best of men.
+
+  But, Science be praised, it is seldom now
+    We lose a ship by a sudden crash,
+  For what with the lights and the whistle's row
+    We luckily dodge a general smash.
+
+  And that ship there, as she breasts the swell
+    And ghosts her side with a foamy ridge,
+  Has had many a shave--for logs don't tell
+    All the tales of a steamer's bridge.
+
+  In silence we watch her for quite a time
+    Until she becomes a smoky blear,
+  Then as ten rings out from the fo'c'sle chime
+    I go aft to my cheese and my beer.
+
+
+
+
+  MISSING.
+
+
+  A cloudless sky, a sleeping sea,
+    A cold gray reach of shore,
+  A gleam of sail upon the lee--
+    And nothing more.
+
+  My eyes saw that, my heart saw more:
+    A woman whose quivering lip
+  Moulded this sentence o'er and o'er,
+    "God keep that ship!"
+
+  God keep that ship! Her prayer, not mine,
+    Goes out across the sea
+  To where beyond the misty line
+    A face is turned from me.
+  God keep that ship! Her ship, not mine--
+    Mine never came back to me.
+
+
+
+
+  MAKING LAND.
+
+
+  The fore-royal furled, I pause and I stand,
+    Both feet on the yard, for a look around,
+  With eyes that ache for a sight of the land,
+    For we are homeward bound.
+
+  Like a bowl of silver the ocean lies,
+    Untouched by the fret of a single sail,
+  And over its edge the billows uprise
+    And slide before the gale.
+
+  I see, close beneath me, the garn's'l bulge,
+    And half of the tops'l swollen and round
+  Swells out above, where the bunts divulge
+    The fores'l's snowy mound.
+
+  With a fill and a flap the jibs respond,
+    As she rolls a-weather, then rolls a-lee,
+  And her bone as she leaps is thrown beyond
+    The next o'ertaken sea.
+
+  And the hull beneath in its foamy ring
+    Is narrowed in by the spread of sail,
+  And the waves as they wash her seem to fling
+    Their heads above the rail.
+
+  And I hear the roar of the passing blast,
+    And the hiss and gush of the parted sea
+  Is mixed with the groan of the straining mast,
+    And the parrel's, che, che, che.
+
+  Of the weather deck where the old man strides,
+    From the break of the poop to the after-rail,
+  I can catch a glimpse, but all besides
+    Is hid by swelling sail.
+
+  For the wake abaft is shut behind,
+    Except when she yaws from her helm and throws;
+  Then like a green lane it seems to wind
+    Aheap with drifted snows.
+
+  But lo! as I gaze the weather clew
+    Of the topsail lifts to the watch's weight,
+  And the helmsman comes into perfect view,
+    And at his side the mate.
+
+  As I swing my eyes ahead again
+    For that one last look ere I drop below,
+  They catch as she lifts a grayish stain
+    Athwart the orange glow.
+
+  My heart leaps up at the welcome sight,
+    And I grasp the pole with a firmer hand,
+  And shading my eyes from the glancing light
+    Make sure that it is land.
+
+  It seems to dance, but I catch it still
+    As we lift to the sweep of a longer sea--
+  'Tis the windy top of a far-off hill
+    Whose shape is known to me.
+
+  Then I send a yell to the rolling deck,
+    And start all hands from their work below;
+  As I point with a rigid arm at the speck--
+    The cry comes back, "Land ho!"
+
+  And the mate looks up and gives a call,
+    The old man stops in his clock-like walk,
+  The watch lets up on the top-sail fall
+    And takes a spell of talk.
+
+  The skipper goes aft to the binnacle, where
+    He shapes his hand on the compass card,
+  And takes with a glance the bearing there,
+    Eying me on the yard.
+
+  And I stand with my right arm swinging out,
+    With a finger true on the dancing speck,
+  Until on my ears falls the ringing shout:
+    "All right! Lay down on deck!"
+
+
+
+
+  AT PORTSMOUTH
+
+
+  The great ships in the harbour
+    Sit silent on the tide,
+  And in the sea beneath them
+    Their gloomy shadows ride.
+
+  There is no life, no beauty,
+    No grace the heart can feel,
+  In those irenic monsters--
+    Those hideous forms of steel.
+
+  It is old England's squadron,
+    Her constant watch and ward--
+  The bulwark of her freedom,
+    The Channel's matchless guard.
+
+  How different from the frigates
+    That bore the dauntless Blake;
+  How different from the liners
+    That roared in Nelson's wake!
+
+  Majestic then and lofty
+    They towered above the deep,
+  Bestowing beauty on the main
+    Their forms were framed to keep.
+
+  Sail over sail they offered
+    Their canvas to the wind,
+  That mimicked in its whiteness
+    The wake they swept behind.
+
+  No wonder kingly seamen
+    Were bred in ships like those;
+  No wonder that they made them
+    A terror to their foes.
+
+  For in the grace and beauty
+    They shed upon the sea
+  Man found the inspiration
+    That kept him brave and free.
+
+  And man and ship together
+    Played well that noble part,
+  Until their oaken sides became
+    A symbol for his heart.
+
+  But look! where black and formless
+    Those modern monsters ride
+  A blot upon the seascape,
+    A load upon the tide.
+
+  Hark! from the massive flagship
+    Breathes out the morning gun;
+  Exultant in its mission
+    Her ensign meets the sun.
+
+  From battle-ship and cruiser,
+    From merchantman and fort,
+  The cross of red makes glorious
+    The strong and ancient port.
+
+  Then with a heart that follows
+    I turn my eager eyes
+  To where at honored moorings
+    The grand old victor lies.
+
+  There floats the same proud bunting
+    She swept along the breeze
+  The day that France was broken
+    And driven from the seas.
+
+  There in prophetic splendor
+    It crowns her shapely spar,
+  The promise of a future--
+    The final Trafalgar.
+
+
+
+
+  AT ANCHOR.
+
+
+  Sights of sail are caught on the edge--
+    Black coasters waiting the flood;
+  Nest of spars that stroke like the sedge
+    Long rivers of sunset blood.
+
+  Gleam of lamps low down in the west,
+    Gulls crying over the bar,
+  Sea as still as a child at breast,
+    Moon following up a star.
+
+  That is to-night--and our own to twist
+    Round memory's finger and hold,
+  As guerdon for those we've lost or missed
+    While fretting and fighting for gold.
+
+
+
+
+  FROM THE CLIFF.
+
+
+  The wind is fresh, the wind is foul;
+  The clouds are long and low and gray;
+  The rocky headland wears a cowl,
+  And looks a monk who kneels to pray
+  And tell his beads for parting souls:
+  While out beyond the bar there rolls
+  A sullen swell, and white and high
+  Along the cliffs the breakers fly.
+
+      _Roar, roar, O Sea! Thy stormy song
+      Appalls the weak, but nerves the strong._
+
+  Look! yonder bark with puffing sail
+  Has turned her bow to win the sea;
+  She fears to meet the rising gale
+  With reef and rockland on her lee.
+  And as she luffs the blast to greet,
+  By halyard, clew, and straining sheet,
+  All, all, alert her seamen stand,
+  And watch with anxious eye the land.
+
+      _Roar, roar, O Sea! Thy stormy song
+      Appalls the weak, but nerves the strong._
+
+  Then tack on tack she weathers out--
+  Her topsails shiver in the wind;
+  Down goes the helm, she flies about,
+  And leaping off soon leaves behind
+  The rocky dangers, and has past
+  The headland, when the wrathful blast,
+  Bursts from the cloud and wild and grand
+  Hurls in the sea against the land.
+
+      _Roar, roar, O Sea! Thy stormy song
+      Appalls the weak, but nerves the strong._
+
+
+
+
+  THEN AND NOW.
+
+
+  The wind has changed to happy south,
+    The tide is setting free,
+  As one by one, past harbor mouth,
+    Our ships stand out to sea.
+  We watch them pass, my love and I;
+    We shout Halloo! from shore.
+  Good-bye! Good-bye! the sailors cry;
+    Good-bye! the breakers roar.
+
+  The wind has turned to icy north,
+    Full bitterly it blows;
+  The sea is wroth, and white with froth,
+    And no ship comes or goes.
+  We watch for them, my love and I;
+    We linger on the shore.
+  The breakers cry Ho! ho! Good-bye!--
+    Good-bye for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+  THE SHIPS.
+
+
+  Sing the sea, sing the ships,
+  Sing the sea and its ships,
+  With the lightness and the brightness
+  Of the foam about their lips;
+  When reaching off to seaward,
+  When running down to leeward,
+  When beating up to port with the pilot at the fore;
+  When racing down the Trade,
+  Or ratching half afraid
+  With a lookout on the yard for the marks along the shore.
+
+  Sing them when you frame them,
+  Sing them when you name them,
+  Sing them as you sing the woman whom you love;
+  For the world of life they lose you,
+  For the home that they refuse you,
+  For the sea that deeps beneath them and the sky that crowns above.
+
+    Sing them when they leave you,
+    Sing them when they grieve you,
+  Going down the harbor with a smoky tug along;
+    With the yards braced this and that,
+    And the anchor at the cat,
+  And the bunting saying good-bye to the watching, waving throng.
+
+    Sing them when they need you,
+    Sing them when they speed you,
+  With their stems making trouble for the steep Atlantic seas;
+    When the channel as she rolls
+    Heaps the foam along the poles,
+  And the decks fore-and-aft are awash above your knees.
+
+    Sing them when they spring you,
+    Sing them when they wing you,
+  Rolling down the Trades with a breeze that never shifts;
+    When the crew they quite forget
+    What is meant by cold and wet,
+  And the feel of the braces and the sheets and the lifts.
+
+    Sing them when they mock you,
+    Sing them when they shock you,
+  Smothered under topsails with the kingly Horn abeam;
+    When the wind flies round about
+    And the watch is always out,
+  And all hands are wishing that they'd signed to go in steam.
+
+    Sing the sea, sing the ships,
+    Sing the sea and its ships,
+    With the molding and the folding
+    Of the wave about their form;
+    Sing them when they teach us,
+    Sing them when they preach us,
+  A lesson in the calm and a sermon in the storm.
+
+    Sing them when the dying
+    Wind has left them lying
+  With the canvas in the brails a-tremble to the rolls;
+    And the ocean is so still
+    That you wonder if it will
+  Give back to her who bore them those legions of lost souls.
+
+    Sing the sea, sing the ships,
+    Sing the sea and its ships,
+    With the forming and the storming
+    Of the wave athwart their bows;
+    Sing them when you clear them,
+    Sing them when you steer them,
+    For the strength that they have given
+    And the courage they arouse.
+
+    For the nation that forgets them,
+    For the nation that regrets them,
+  Is a nation that is dying as the nations all must die;
+    For there never yet was state
+    That met the Roman fate
+  While she had a ship to guard her and a sailor to stand by.
+
+    For the traffic you have won,
+    For the web that you have spun,
+  To catch the flies of commerce and the fleeting gnats of trade
+    Will be rent and blown away,
+    For the weak will never pay
+  Their earnings to a people who have stamped themselves afraid.
+
+    Pull down the selfish wall!
+    We are not cowards all!
+  There are some who dare to struggle with the traders of the world.
+    Cast off the nation's chain,
+    And give us back the main,
+  And the flag that's never absent and the sail that's never furled.
+
+    Sing the sea, sing the ships,
+    Sing the sea and its ships,
+    With the mounding and the pounding
+    Of the wave along their sides;
+    When sailing out and bounding,
+    When towing in and rounding,
+  They drop the anxious anchor and they face the swinging tides.
+
+    Sing them when you leave them
+    Sing them when you heave them
+  To a fast berth, a last berth beside the knackers quay;
+    For our ships are getting rotten
+    And our people have forgotten
+  The mission of the vessel and the glory of the sea.
+
+
+
+
+  THE MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN'S YARN.
+
+
+  Down came the corvette on our weather;
+  Then thundered our broadsides together.
+    Thus thus we fought all day;
+  And when the sun set and evening spread
+    Across the East her mantle gray,
+    Under our lee she lay,
+  Her decks a mass of dead.
+  Yet at her splintered foremast head
+  Her ensign laughed,
+  Lifting and flapping in the draft,
+  Scorning our shot to bring it down.
+  Our Captain eyed it with a frown
+    To hide his admiration--
+    Hero himself, he heroes knew,
+    Tho' children of a hated nation.
+  Then to his weary blood-stained crew
+    He cried:--
+  "To your guns once more
+  And let our broadside roar!"
+    Then hot and close we plied
+  Her with shot that tore
+  Her fore and aft;
+  Yet still that crimson banner laughed--
+  Yet still her broken, bleeding men
+  Gave back our cheers again.
+
+  We would have spared them then;
+    As with fierce and flashing eyes,
+  With eyes aflame with pride,
+  We looked upon a foe
+  Who for twelve hot hours defied
+    A vessel twice her size.
+  But Fate thrust in a bloody fist
+  And gave our hearts a devilish twist.
+  A random shot that hit our rail
+    Came from her foremost gun,
+  And flying in the splinter hail
+    Struck down the one
+  Whose voice had shaped and cheered the fray
+  Thro' all that mad and murderous day.
+  He fell; and for a space we stood
+  As though our smoke-grimed forms had turned to wood,
+    The victims of some deadly spell.
+  Silence--save for the feverish groans of they
+  Who, writhing, dying lay--
+    Was over all; then suddenly there burst a yell
+    That would have shocked and staggered hell!
+
+  Ah! you who sit with me to-night
+  And talk of war, of might and right;
+  Had you been there to see that fight,
+  When, reeling down upon the wreck,
+  We boarded, leaping on her deck,
+  And mad with slaughter--mad and blind
+  With blood of ours, aye, your own kind.
+  We shot and cut, we slew
+  The remnant of that dauntless crew;
+  And when our pikes had struck the last
+  Tore down that ensign from the mast.
+  Had you been there, I say, to see
+  That horror--but, enough for me
+  To tell, we shuddered at the sight
+  When in the chill that follows fight
+  We gazed upon that slaughter pen
+  And knew those things as fellow-men.
+  With feverish haste we cleared the deck,
+  Then fired the slowly sinking wreck,
+  And cutting loose stood off astern,
+  And watched her spar and topsides burn
+  Till suddenly a blinding flash;
+  A roar. Silence. Here--there--a splash
+  And all was o'er. We filled our yard,
+  Though leaking much and laboring hard
+  Stood up for port, and made at last
+  The harbor's light. But ho! avast
+  With tales like this; they breed a thirst--
+  Another glass--my throat is curs'd
+  With fire. Here's to the gallant tar
+  Who talks of peace, yet longs for war;
+  Who lives to see his ship again
+  Dispute the glory of the main,
+  And man for man, and gun for gun,
+  Meet such another dauntless one.
+
+
+
+
+  A FOGGY MORNING.
+
+
+  Seaward driving, like a shriving
+    Gray monk cloaked in gray,
+  Thro' the crowded ship-enshrouded,
+    Buoy-bound reaches of the bay;
+  Misty moving phantoms proving
+    Vessels creeping slowly past.
+  Hark! the droning fog-horn moaning
+    From the steamer looming vast;
+  Bell-buoy telling when the swelling
+    Swell of ocean rocks its boat
+  Where the ledge's granite edges
+    Threaten ships that overfloat;
+  Canvas dripping, dew streams slipping
+    Down the black and swollen gear;
+  Helmsman peering at the steering
+    Compass thro' a watery blear;
+  Topsails dimming in the swimming
+    Vapor sea that floats o'erhead,
+  And the singing seaman swinging
+    Constantly the pilot lead;
+  Sun uprising with surprising
+    Mystic glory haunts the shroud,
+  Red and rolling thro' the shoaling
+    Eastward verges of the cloud;
+  Spars uplifting on the shifting
+    Billows of the fading mist
+  Seem suspended on extended
+    Rippling ropes of amethyst;
+  Day-star bursting, hotly thirsting,
+    Drains the fog with fervid lips;
+  Sunlight flashing shows us dashing
+    Past the port, the town, the ships.
+
+
+
+
+  UNKNOWN.
+
+
+  Lo! when the sun was half dropt in the west,
+  As wing-weary sea birds seeking their night-rest,
+  They drifted in upon the harbor's breast.
+
+  None knew from whence they came, or where they sailed;
+  No betraying pennon from their mastheads trailed;
+  They answered not when they were loudly hailed.
+
+  When the day into the night had died
+  They clustered on the ebbing tide,
+  Like sleeping sea swans, side by side.
+
+  The warders at the midnight hour,
+  Within the shadow of the tower,
+  Watched their lanterns rise and lower.
+
+  Ere scarce the day and earth had wed,
+  Their oars on either side they spread,
+  Shook out their sails and southward fled.
+
+  And when the sun shot up across the bay,
+  Naught showed where they had made their stay,
+  Save the broken corals where their anchors lay.
+
+  So into my heart at eventide
+  Ofttimes a fleet of dreams will glide,
+  And all night long at anchor ride.
+
+  From whence they come, or where they go,
+  What pain or joy their forms foreshow,
+  I dare not ask--I cannot know.
+
+  But when dawn breaks o'er sea and mart,
+  With rippling oars and yearning sails they start,
+  Leaving their anchor marks upon my heart.
+
+
+
+
+  THE COASTERS.
+
+
+  _Overloaded, undermanned,
+    Trusting to a lee;
+  Playing I-spy with the land,
+    Jockeying the sea--
+  That's the way the Coaster goes,
+    Thro' calm and hurricane:
+  Everywhere the tide flows,
+  Everywhere the wind blows,
+    From Mexico to Maine._
+
+  O East and West! O North and South!
+    We ply along the shore,
+  From famous Fundy's foggy mouth,
+    From voes of Labrador;
+  Thro' pass and strait, on sound and sea,
+    From port to port we stand--
+  The rocks of Race fade on our lee,
+    We hail the Rio Grande.
+  Our sails are never lost to sight;
+    On every gulf and bay
+  They gleam, in winter wind-cloud white,
+    In summer rain-cloud gray.
+
+  We hold the coast with slippery grip;
+    We dare from cape to cape;
+  Our leaden fingers feel the dip
+    And trace the channel's shape.
+  We sail or bide as serves the tide;
+    Inshore we cheat its flow,
+  And side by side at anchor ride
+    When stormy head-winds blow.
+  We are the offspring of the shoal,
+    The hucksters of the sea;
+  From customs theft and pilot toll,
+    Thank God that we are free.
+
+  _Legging on and off the beach,
+    Drifting up the strait,
+  Fluking down the river reach,
+    Towing thro' the Gate--
+  That's the way the Coaster goes,
+    Flirting with the gale:
+  Everywhere the tide flows,
+  Everywhere the wind blows,
+    From York to Beavertail._
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  _Here and there to get a load,
+    Freighting anything;
+  Running off with spanker stowed,
+    Loafing wing-a-wing--
+  That's the way the Coaster goes,
+    Chumming with the land:
+  Everywhere the tide flows,
+  Everywhere the wind blows,
+    From Ray to Rio Grande._
+
+  We split the swell where rings the bell
+    On many a shallow's edge,
+  We take our flight past many a light
+    That guards the deadly ledge,
+  We greet Montauk across the foam,
+    We work the Vineyard Sound,
+  The Diamond sees us running home,
+    The Georges outward bound;
+  Absecom hears our canvas beat
+    When tacked off Brigantine,
+  We raise the Gulls with lifted sheet,
+    Pass wing-and-wing between.
+
+  Off Monomoy we fight the gale,
+    We drift off Sandy Key;
+  The watch of Fenwick sees our sail
+    Scud for Henlopen's lee.
+  With decks awash and canvas torn
+    We wallow up the Stream;
+  We drag dismasted, cargo borne,
+    And fright the ships of steam.
+  Death grips us with his frosty hands
+    In calm and hurricane;
+  We spill our bones on fifty sands
+    From Mexico to Maine.
+
+  _Cargo reef in main and fore,
+    Manned by half a crew;
+  Romping up the weather shore,
+    Edging down the Blue--
+  That's the way the Coaster goes.
+    Scouting with the lead:
+  Everywhere the tide flows,
+  Everywhere the wind blows,
+    From Cruz to Quoddy Head._
+
+
+
+
+  TO-DAY.
+
+
+  The sea and the sky are in love to-day,
+    Their forms are the forms of one;
+  And ships that sit on the lip of the bay,
+    Coming and going the other way,
+  Are sparks in the sparkling sun.
+
+  The shape and shadow of yachts that slip
+    Embayed by the land's long sweep
+  Are phantoms that cover a phantom ship,
+    While out on the shoals the summer gulls dip--
+  To-day is a day asleep.
+
+
+
+
+  THE SAILOR OF THE SAIL.
+
+
+  I sing the Sailor of the Sail, breed of the oaken heart,
+  Who drew the world together and spread our race apart,
+
+  Whose conquests are the measure of thrice the ocean's girth,
+  Whose trophies are the nations that necklace half the earth.
+
+  Lord of the Bunt and Gasket and Master of the Yard,
+  To whom no land was distant, to whom no sea was barred:
+
+  Who battled with the current; who conquered with the wind;
+  Who shaped the course before him by the wake he threw behind;
+
+  Who burned in twenty climates; who froze in twenty seas;
+  Who crept the shore of Labrador and flash'd the Caribbees.
+
+  Who followed Drake; who fought with Blake; who broke the bar of Spain,
+  And who gave to timid traffic the freedom of the main.
+
+  Who woke the East; who won the West; who made the North his own;
+  Who weft his wake in many a fake athwart the Southern zone;
+
+  Who drew the thread of commerce through Sunda's rocky strait;
+  Who faced the fierce Levanter where England holds the gate;
+
+  Who saw the frozen mountains draw down the moonlike sun;
+  Who felt the gale tear at the sail, and ice gnaw at the run;
+
+  Who drove the lance of barter through Asia's ancient shield;
+  Who tore from drowsy China what China dare not yield;
+
+  Who searched with Cook and saw him unroll beneath his hand
+  The last, the strangest continent, the sundered Southern land;
+
+  To whom all things were barter--slaves, spices, gold, and gum;
+  Who gave his life for glory; who sold his soul for rum--
+
+  I sing him, and I see him, as only those can see
+  Who stake their lives to fathom that solveless mystery;
+
+  Who on the space of waters have fought the killing gale,
+  Have heard the crying of the spar, the moaning of the sail;
+
+  Who never see the ocean but that they feel its hand
+  Clutch like a siren at the heart to drag it from the land;
+
+  I see him in the running when seas would overwhelm
+  Lay breathing hard along the yard and sweating at the helm.
+
+  I see him at the earing light out the stubborn bands
+  When every foot of canvas is screeved with bloody hands.
+
+  I see him freezing, starving--I see him scurvy curst,
+  Alone, and slowly dying, locked in that hell of thirst.
+
+  I see him drunk and fighting roll through some seaboard town,
+  When those who own and rob him take to the street and frown.
+
+  O Sovereign of the Boundless! O Bondsman of the Wave!
+  Who made the world dependent, yet lived and died a slave.
+
+  In Britain's vast Valhalla, where sleep her worst and best--
+  Where is the grave she made you--your first and final rest--
+
+  Beneath no stone or trophy, beneath no minster tower,
+  Lie those who gave her Empire, who stretched her arm to power.
+
+  Below those markless pathways where commerce shapes the trail,
+  Unsung, unrung, forgotten, sleeps The Sailor of The Sail.
+
+
+
+
+  THE YACHT.
+
+
+  How like a queen she walks the summer sea;
+    Her canvas crowning well the comely mold
+    Light loved until it lifts a spire of gold
+  Outlined and inset by a tracery
+    Of rig and spar. Hers is a witchery
+    Of loveliness, that seems to draw and hold
+    The wind to do its bidding. Fold on fold
+  The seas charge in; then stricken by the free
+    Quick lancing of her stem recoil to break
+  Against the breeze; then rushing back they foam
+    Along the rail, and swirl into the wake,
+    And rave astern in many a wrinkled dome.
+  For thus she doth her windward way betake
+    Like one who lives to conquer and to roam.
+
+
+
+
+  THE TRADE-WIND'S SONG.
+
+
+  Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love--
+    I am steady, and strong, and true;
+  They follow my track by the clouds above
+    O'er the fathomless tropic blue.
+
+  For close by the shores of the sunny Azores
+    Their ships I await to convoy;
+  When into their sails my constant breath pours
+    They hail me with turbulent joy.
+
+  Oh, I bring them a rest from the tiresome toil
+    Of trimming the sail to the blast;
+  For I love to keep gear all snug in the coil
+    And the sheets and the braces all fast.
+
+  From the deck to the truck I pour all my force,
+    In spanker and jib I am strong;
+  For I make every course to pull like a horse
+    And worry the great ship along.
+
+  As I fly o'er the blue I sing to the crew,
+    Who answer me back with a hail;
+  I whistle a note as I slip by the throat
+    Of the buoyant and bellying sail.
+
+  I laugh when the wave leaps over the head
+    And the jibs thro' the spray-bow shine,
+  For an acre of foam is broken and spread
+    When she shoulders and tosses the brine.
+
+  Thro' daylight and dark I follow the bark,
+    I keep like a hound on her trail;
+  I'm strongest at noon, yet under the moon
+    I stiffen the bunt of her sail;
+
+  The wide ocean thro' for days I pursue,
+    Till slowly my forces all wane;
+  Then in whispers of calm I bid them adieu
+    And vanish in thunder and rain.
+
+  Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love--
+    I am steady, and strong, and true;
+  They follow my track by the clouds above
+    O'er the fathomless tropic blue.
+
+
+
+
+  EXECUTION ROCK LIGHT.
+
+
+  Out on its knoll of granite gray,
+    Old Execution rears its ghostly shaft,
+  And thro' the night and thro' the day
+    Speaks cheer to passing craft;
+  While in the sun they see it gleam
+    Upon the horizon, miles afar,
+  And in the dark its changeful beam
+    Flames out a guiding star.
+  From year to year, thro' calm and gale,
+    Across the Sound its warning flare is cast
+  It cries "All's well!" to steam and sail
+    And guides them safely past.
+  One day it hides its form in haze
+    And seems to sentinel some mystic strand;
+  The next, it glories in the blaze
+    Of morning's crimson brand.
+  And now across the stormy tide
+    It spires against the sandy bluff, and shows
+  The front of one who will abide
+    The shock of lusty blows.
+  Along its reef the surges roll,
+    And white with repulse rise and fling their froth
+  Like snow across the rocky knoll,
+    Then burst in foamy wrath.
+  And there it stands, fearless, sedate,
+    Like some brave knight who scorns to couch his lance
+  Against the churls, but with his weight
+    Bears back their wild advance.
+
+
+
+
+  THE CARGO BOATS.
+
+
+  I love to see them, laden deep,
+    Come steaming in from ports afar,
+  And, slipping past the light-ship, creep
+    With watchful steps across the bar,
+
+  Mauled by the hands of tide and time,
+    All grimy with their grimy coals,
+  Their funnels white with salty rime,
+    And smoky rings about their poles.
+
+  Look, now, along the Gedney lane,
+    With pushing bows comes slowly through
+  A West of England cargo wain,
+    With banded stack and star of blue.
+
+  There is no beauty in her form;
+    But when has simple beauty paid
+  In vessel destined to perform
+    As Cinderella to the trade?
+
+  Go, let her haughty sisters flaunt
+    Their sightly stems and graceful sheers;
+  But let her best, her only vaunt,
+    Be that she is as she appears--
+
+  A thing that men have framed to bear
+    Their merchandise at cheapest rates,
+  That's safe to pay a pound a share,
+    And more when there's a boom in freights;
+
+  A monster whelped of monster age--
+    An age that thinks but cannot feel--
+  Whose Bible is the balanced page,
+    Whose gods are gods of steam and steel.
+
+  In her I love the useful thing--
+    In her I hate the sailless mast;
+  For I am one who cares to sing
+    The glories of the steamless past.
+
+  I feel the spirit of the age--
+    The master splendor of its span--
+  But make no common with the rage
+    That lifts the thing above the man.
+
+  But useless this--we've learned to make
+    The word _mechanic_ fit a song;
+  So let us watch that ship and take
+    Her picture as she jogs along.
+
+  The house-flag hoist; the ensign spread;
+    The tackles rove; the booms atop;
+  The deck-gang busy on the head;
+    The anchor ready for the drop.
+
+  Though from this outlook men appear
+    No bigger than a dancing midge,
+  I see the pilot standing near
+    The skipper on the upper bridge.
+
+  The telegraph is set "stand by";
+    The oldest hand is at the wheel;
+  And down below with watchful eye
+    The Chief awaits the warning peal.
+
+  The engines hiss; the 'scape-pipe roars;
+    The firemen spread the dusty slack,
+  And sternward from her funnel pours
+    A cloud that lingers in her track.
+
+  The Hook is past, the buoy abeam;
+    Then slowly to her helm she turns,
+  And getting confidence and steam
+    At full speed up the bay she churns.
+
+  Her lean hull shrinks, her spars grow short,
+    Her trailing flag is scarcely seen,
+  As slipping past the granite fort
+    She drops her hook off Quarantine.
+
+  And we who watch her turn away
+    And talk of ships and other things,
+  The present and the future day,
+    And what the world will do with wings.
+
+  How men will stir with busy hum
+    The upper main, by wake untraced,
+  And how the ocean will become
+    Again a sailless, shipless waste.
+
+
+
+
+  THE NOONTIDE CALM.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  The azure sky leans on the sea,
+  Inverting its concavity,
+  And in the waveless depths below
+  Re-forms and rolls its cloudy show;
+  For cloud and cloud are piled to shape
+  A mountain here, and there a cape,
+  Until the heavens seem to rest
+  A cheek upon the ocean's breast,
+  And listen, with white lips apart,
+  To catch the beating of its heart.
+  Fathoms deep, oh, fathoms deep,
+  Maid and merman lie asleep;
+  Calm above and calm below;
+  Sheering to the current's flow,
+  Vessels red and vessels brown,
+  Floating, cast a shadow down
+  On the seafolks' coral town.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Slowly the shadows crawl
+  Along the wall
+  Of the sea-king's hall.
+  The sea-grass curtains thro'
+  He looks out upon the blue
+  Glimmering regions that bow down
+  To the magic of his crown.
+  Lord of half an ocean, he
+  Loves to live where rivers three,
+  Flowing from the windy hills,
+  Drinkers of a thousand rills,
+  Pour into the thirsty sea.
+  There he delights to lie,
+  Mirroring the lucent sky
+  In his wild and wondrous eye.
+  Far, far o'erhead he marks
+  The swordfish and the sharks
+  Darting up and floating down;
+  Sees the porpoise, blue and brown,
+  Plunge thro' the silver nebula
+  Of fish;--the herring in dismay
+  Break, scatter like a starry host
+  Whose path some errant sun has cross'd.
+  And he smiles to watch the race
+  When the merry dolphins chase
+  A dogfish from his flying prey;
+  Where the clumsy sea-cows stray,
+  Herded by the mermen strong,
+  Who, with lances light and long,
+  Keep the gaunt sea-wolves at bay.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Shades of vessels that have passed
+  Rope and sail and yellow mast--
+  On the seafolks' town are cast;
+  And the Merking, startled by
+  Shadows in his crystal sky,
+  Calls the guard at palace gate,
+  Where he reigns in ancient state,
+  Sitting on a coral throne,
+  With sea-mosses overgrown--
+  Calls his guard to send a slave
+  Skyward, soaring thro' the wave,
+  To command the mariner
+  To move on. The messenger,
+  A dolphin bold,
+  With back of gold,
+  Swiftly cleaving, swirling, leaving
+  A flashing trail,
+  As from each scale
+  And finny tip
+  A silver spray of bubbles slip.
+  Higher, higher rises he,
+  Till from the surface of the sea
+  He leaps, and gloriously
+  Rolls his flashing coat of mail
+  In the splendor of the day.
+  Then the sailors trim the sail,
+  Knowing that the sprightly gale
+  Cometh when the dolphins play.
+  Haste away! Haste away!
+  For the breeze
+  Frets the seas,
+  And the rim of opal hue
+  Burns a green and flames a blue.
+
+
+
+
+  THE OLD BUCCANEER'S SONG.
+
+
+  Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main,
+  And I feel the breezes blowing and see those isles again--
+  Those isles of peace and plenty where we loved to linger long,
+  To woo the black-eyed Carib maid who sang the rover's song;
+  Who, resting in the palm shade when the sun was fierce above,
+  With many a tender measure taught us what indeed is love.
+
+  Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main,
+  And I hear my comrades calling me back to them again;
+  For 'tis where the breakers, roaring, flash in and beat the sand--
+  'Tis where the feathery plantain shakes its shadow on the strand;
+  'Neath orange and palmetto and many a flowery tree
+  Dwell the gallant privateersmen who drink and think of me.
+
+  Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main--
+  I see our banners flying and I hear the cheers again:
+  When with many a reckless comrade in vessel tall and true,
+  Before the constant trade-wind to the south-and-west we flew,
+  And ere the haughty Spaniard had thought of danger near
+  Town and tower and galleon were spoil of buccaneer.
+
+  Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main,
+  And many a pearl and red doubloon chink in my hand again.
+  Back, back unto the sunny isle to rest a season there--
+  To bind a lace of priceless gems in my sweet Carib's hair,
+  To feel her arms about my neck, to hear her sing again
+  The pleasures and the glories of our life along the main.
+
+  Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main,
+  For I am weary waiting for those days to come again.
+  A curse upon this slothful life and this black northern land!
+  Oh, give to me the sapphire sea and southern strand!
+  Oh, let me hear but once again my comrades' ringing cheers,
+  And lead to spoil and victory the dashing buccaneers.
+
+
+
+
+  THE BELFRY OF THE SEA.
+
+
+  _Men who bless them
+    And caress them--
+  Bells that call upon the land--
+    Curse and chide them,
+    Mock, deride them,
+  When they shout above a sand.
+  Not alone are bells thus treated,
+  For the story is repeated
+  In the world of every day;
+    He who flings us--
+    He who brings us--
+  Joys and pleasures all may share,
+  Has our blessings for his pay;
+    But he who warns us--
+    He who mourns us,
+  Bids us to the watch and ware--
+    Has our curses,
+    And reverses
+  In the moulds that mint our prayer._
+
+  O singer of the sailor's song,
+  Fear not to sing me broad and strong--
+  Fear not to sing me in the van
+  Of those who stand and strive for man;
+  And if they make the question, then
+  Come tell me what man does for men.
+
+  I am the Belfry of the Sea,
+    The rider of the swell,
+  The guardsman of the deadly lee,
+    The outer sentinel.
+
+  Man placed me here to watch this sand--
+    This sneaking, shifting shoal--
+  He shaped me with a clever hand,
+    So that my bell doth toll
+  With every move and motion
+  Of the changeful, changeless ocean.
+
+  Mine is a thankless task;
+  But no recompense I ask.
+  I am hated by the shoal;
+    I am hated by the sea;
+  And the very fish that bask
+  In the shadow of my cask
+    Are half afraid of me.
+
+  The land wind speaks me fair,
+  For it has no thought or care
+  With the deeds that are done
+    In the midnight and the gale;
+  And it bears me on its wing
+  A welcome offering
+  Of the shouting of the upland
+    And the chatter of the shale.
+
+  But most I love the weather
+  When the wind and sea together
+  Lie locked in summer slumber
+    And the sky sleeps overhead,
+  For then I ease the strain
+  On my anchor and my chain,
+  And ring a muffled service
+    For my shattered, scattered dead.
+
+  I am never wholly sad;
+  I am never wholly glad;
+  For my sadness is half madness
+  And my gladness is half sadness
+  For the remnants of the wrecks
+  That lie below me cast
+    A gloom upon the wave,
+  And my sunny days are past
+  Sleeping in the shadow
+    That is shaken from a grave.
+
+  'Twas not I who betrayed them;
+  'Twas not I who waylaid them;
+  But they died with curses for me
+    On their water-wasted lips.
+  I did my best to save them
+  The warning that I gave them
+  Is the warning that has succored
+    Ten thousand watchful ships.
+
+  Ah, had they used the lead!
+  Ah, had they tacked instead
+  Of standing blindly onward
+    Without a watch for me!
+  They would have heard me tolling;
+  They would have seen me rolling;
+  And have had a chance to weather
+    And gain the open sea.
+
+  For I mark a dreaded danger
+  To the coaster and the stranger,
+  For my friend below is silent
+    And shows no foamy chain.
+  Not like the sunken ledge;
+  Not like the reefs that wedge
+  The surges from the undergrip
+    And hurl them out again.
+
+  For the reef it warns the ship
+  By the frothing and the snowing
+  Of its rocky underlip;
+    For it shows its broken teeth,
+  And it bares the bone beneath,
+  And roars sometimes in anger,
+    And it cries sometimes in grief.
+
+  But this sluggish and this sucking spread of sand
+  It is dead to ear and eye;
+  And its very bounds defy
+  The laws that keep in order
+    The stout and stable land.
+
+  It changes every storm;
+  And I never know its form--
+  I who gird and guard it
+    With my constant clanging bell--
+  It scarcely gives me hold
+  For my anchor in its mold;
+  And we shift and change together
+    With each mighty, moving swell.
+
+  But I rob it of its prey,
+  For the ships have time to stay,
+  When the wind takes up my music
+    And bears it out to sea;
+  But when the Easters roar
+  And drive upon the shore
+  My loudest cry of warning
+    Is tossed and lost a-lee.
+
+  Then, then I cry in anger,
+  And the clanging and the clangor
+  Shake and shock the bars
+    Of my tossing, toiling cage;
+  And I curse the wind and sea,
+  And the chain that's under me
+  Strains its links and surges
+    With the transports of my rage.
+
+  For I know I cannot save them;
+  And the shoal that thinks to grave them--
+  That will feed its thousand acres
+    On their oaken frames and sides--
+  It seems to mound its spread,
+  It seems to lift its head,
+  As though to make more deadly
+    The tangle of its tides.
+
+  In the snow, in the fog,
+  When the sharpest eyes are blind;
+  When the ocean
+  Has scarce motion,
+  And the wind
+  Has forsaken;
+  When my power of speech is taken,
+  And I sit in silent pain;
+  When I toil and toil in vain
+  To force the larum note
+  From the muscles of my throat,
+  And it only breathes a toll
+  That dies upon the shoal;
+  And I strive and I writhe
+  With the pain of action palsied
+    By a force beyond control.
+  When I cannot see or hear them;
+  When I cannot warn or cheer them;
+  And only know that they are there
+    By the throbbing of my soul.
+
+  For I know that they will blame me;
+  For I know that they will name me
+  With the bitterest of curses
+    For the silence of my note,
+  And I stoop and pray the sea
+  To lend its aid to me;
+  But it mocks me with a ripple
+    That scarcely wets my float.
+
+  And then I hear them calling,
+  As slowly, slowly crawling
+  They come working in from seaward
+    With their whistles crying _where_?
+  And I try to answer back
+    That I'm lying in the track;
+  But the loudest cry I make them
+    Is a thread upon the air.
+
+  _Swing--swing--
+    Ring--ring--
+  Roll--roll--
+    Toll--toll--
+  Just a thing
+    Without a soul,
+  Doing its duty on the shoal;
+    Just a bell
+  That sea and swell
+    In their fury, in their play,
+  Set a throbbing,
+    And a sobbing;
+  By their very madness robbing--
+    By their rage and rush defeating,
+  By their hate and hurry cheating--
+    Ocean of its prey.
+  Swing--swing--
+    Ring--ring--
+  Roll--roll--
+    Toll--toll._
+
+
+
+
+  PHANTOMS.
+
+
+  Like a tide that runs increasing,
+    Bearing ships to port again,
+  There's a tide that brings unceasing
+    Pleasures to my restless brain.
+
+  When at night I sit and swinging
+    Idly to a strain of thought,
+  Then it flows, resistless, bringing
+    Countless tales with pleasure fraught.
+
+  And it seems as though the olden
+    Stories of the mystic sea
+  Came like ships to bear their golden,
+    Precious cargoes unto me.
+
+  For I hail with deep emotion
+    All those gray and ghostly forms,
+  Phantoms of the shoreless ocean
+    That is swept by constant storms.
+
+  And I see from mist-enshrouded,
+    Ancient, half-forgotten tales
+  Galleons rise, and memory clouded,
+    Pass with faint and formless sails.
+
+  Others come, the tall and splendid
+    Monarchs of the oaken side,
+  Who, with master arms, contended
+    For the empire of the tide.
+
+  One by one they pass in glory--
+    Stately shapes that led the van--
+  Builders of the ocean's story,
+    Noblest gift of man to man.
+
+  And not less the worn and shattered,
+    Drifting, find my port at last.
+  All the stranded, stove, and battered
+    Victims of the wave and blast,
+
+  They are mine by right of capture:
+    Buccaneer and ship of plate;
+  And I search their holds with rapture
+    Till the night grows cold and late;
+
+  Till the moon, high-prowed and dipping,
+    Like a ship of ancient worth,
+  Leaves her cloudy port and slipping,
+    Spins her wake across the earth.
+
+  And the wind, to peace consenting,
+    Breathes a hymn above the land;
+  And the ocean, half repenting,
+    Kneels in prayer along the sand.
+
+
+
+
+  FLOTSAM.
+
+
+  For the tide runs in and the tide runs out,
+    And the women they talk and wait,
+  For hope has a soul that is built of doubt,
+    And our ships are ofttimes late.
+
+  And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
+    And the drift goes floating past;
+  A message it bears to the waiting town
+    In form of a broken mast.
+
+  Look! no seaweed yellows its shattered ends!
+    No shell-fish whiten its girth!
+  'Tis a message, they cry, old Ocean sends
+    To those they have left on earth!
+
+  And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
+    And the sea reclaims its toll;
+  But the hopes that live in that stricken town
+    Are those hopes that have no soul.
+
+
+
+
+  THE LOST SHIP.
+
+
+  Who saw the ship going down to the sea
+    With her topsails sheeted home, and her spanker
+  Swelling like a course, foam along the lee,
+    And the crew on the tackle of the anchor?
+
+  Who saw her running off from the land,
+    Wind blowing strong, steering true for the light-ship,
+  But went away wishing he might command
+    Some future day such a tall, such a tight ship?
+
+  Came she never back again to that port?
+    Long did they wait, watching out at eve and morn.
+  Last was she seen hove-to with canvas short
+    By an eastward bounder scudding past the Horn.
+
+  Who saw her sink that midnight in the storm?
+    Where does she lie, rig-tangled and hull-broken?
+  Sails she, perhaps, a ghostly, gliding form,
+    That silent sea where ships are never spoken?
+
+
+
+
+  THE MAIN-SHEET SONG.
+
+
+  Rushing along on a narrow reach,
+    Our rival under the lee,
+  The wind falls foul of the weather leach,
+    And the jib flaps fretfully.
+  The skipper casts a glance along,
+    And handles his wheel to meet--
+  Then sings in the voice of a stormy song,
+    "All hands get on that sheet!"
+
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill,
+    With a rattle of blocks abaft.
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
+    And bring the main-sheet aft.
+
+  Rolling the foam up over the rail
+    She smokes along and flings
+  A spurt of spray in the curving sail,
+    And plunges and rolls and springs;
+  For a wild, wet spot is the scuppers' sweep,
+    As we stand to our knees along--
+  It's a foot to make and a foot to keep
+    As we surge to the bullie's song.
+
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
+    With a rattle of blocks abaft.
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
+    And bring the main-sheet aft.
+
+  Muscle and mind are a winning pair
+    With a lively plank below,
+  That whether the wind be foul or fair
+    Will pick up her heels and go;
+  For old hemp and hands are shipmates long--
+    There's work whenever they meet--
+  So here's to a pull that's steady and strong,
+    When all hands get on the sheet.
+
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
+    With a rattle of blocks abaft.
+  Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
+    And bring the main-sheet aft.
+
+
+
+
+  THE LANDFALL
+
+
+  The scent of the soil is strong on the breeze,
+    The gulls are many and shrill,
+  And over the crest of the cresting seas
+    Is floating a rosy hill;
+  And right at the base of this filmy shape,
+    Just clear of the weather shroud,
+  Say, is it ship, or is it a cape,
+    Or a hard spot in the cloud?
+  But hark! from aloft where the seaman swings,
+    And points with an eager hand,
+  Then fore and aft the glad cry rings--
+    Land, ho, land!
+
+
+
+
+  THE CLIPPER.
+
+
+  Her sails are strong and yellow as the sand,
+    Her spars are tall and supple as the pine,
+    And, like the bounty of a generous mine,
+  Sun-touched, her brasses flash on every hand.
+  Her sheer takes beauty from a golden band,
+    Which, sweeping aft, is taught to twist and twine
+    Into a scroll, and badge of quaint design
+  Hang on her quarters. Insolent and grand
+    She drives. Her stem rings loudly as it throws
+  The hissing sapphire into foamy waves,
+    While on her weather bends the copper glows
+  In burnished splendor. Rolling down she laves
+    Her high black sides until the scupper flows,
+  Then pushing out her shapely bow she braves
+    The next tall sea, and, leaping, onward goes.
+
+
+
+
+  THE CONSTITUTION.
+
+
+  Where Glory dwells a hundred years,
+    That spot becomes a shrine,
+  The very soil she trod appears
+    To bear the touch divine;
+  The rusted gun, the shattered blade,
+    Are kept with sacred hand,
+  And Honor bows before the shade
+    That fought to save the land.
+
+  Then why neglect--why give to rot
+    This victor of the flood?
+  Is she less holy than the spot
+    That drank a hero's blood?
+  Has she no plume to wing a thought--
+    No spark to fire a mind?
+  In names like her's such deeds are wrought
+    As glorify mankind.
+
+  And they, whose mighty banner fell
+    Before her lightning's blast,
+  Their victor rides the harbor swell
+    Unshorn of yard and mast;
+  And Glory gilds her like a sun,
+    When, steaming thro' the wave,
+  With dipping flag and rapid gun,
+    The brave salute the brave.
+
+  Then give ours back, the sail, the spar--
+    Go let her broadside roar!
+  A gun for every glit'ring star
+    Her conquering ensign bore.
+  To show ye have not held in vain
+    The heritage she kept,
+  Oh, let her image grace again
+    The sea she proudly swept!
+
+
+
+
+  THE TARTAR.
+
+
+  The wind from East to South has shifted,
+  The sea's gone down and the clouds are rifted,
+  And broad on the larboard bow are seen
+  A full-rigged ship and a brigantine,
+  With a topsail schooner in between--
+                    All bound to London Town.
+
+  The ship with a golden freight is freighted,
+  The old brigantine with coal is weighted,
+  The schooner's a slippery privateer,
+  With roguish rig and a saucy sheer--
+  Her cargo is guns and hearts of cheer--
+                    All bound to London Town.
+
+  A Frenchman out of old Brest is cruising,
+  "A chance," says he, "there's no refusing.
+  I will drive that privateer away;
+  The ship and the brig will be my prey,
+  For we don't meet prizes every day--
+                    All bound to London Town."
+
+  Then, crowding sail, on the wind he hurried;
+  The ship and the brig they worried and scurried.
+  The privateer, with her canvas short,
+  Just showed a muzzle at every port,
+  For she'd a crew of the fighting sort--
+                    When bound to London Town.
+
+  The Frenchman tacked the weather gauge after;
+  The privateer cut the sea abaft her;
+  Before she had time to ease a turn
+  They drove a broadside into her stern,
+  For fighting's a trade one's apt to learn--
+                    When bound to London Town.
+
+  Then side by side with their guns they pounded,
+  Till catching a puff the schooner rounded,
+  And ere they had way to do the like,
+  She laid them aboard with blade and pike,
+  So what could the Brestman do but strike--
+                    And go to London Town?
+
+  The wind from East to the South has shifted,
+  The sea's gone down and the clouds are rifted,
+  And broad on the larboard bow are seen
+  A privateer and a brigantine,
+  With a captured Frenchman in between--
+                    All bound to London Town.
+
+
+
+
+  WARNING.
+
+
+  When the old moon hangs to the cloud's gray tail
+    And the stars play in and out;
+  When the East grows red and the West looks pale
+    And the wind goes knocking about;
+
+  When over the edge of the shapeless coast,
+    Where the horizon bites the cloud,
+  The rack of the rain stalks in like a ghost
+    And a sail blows through its shroud--
+
+  When the morn is such, of the noon beware!
+    For this calm's a stormy feint:
+  A reef in the sail is better than prayer,
+    For a snug ship needs no saint.
+
+
+
+
+  IN SEPTEMBER.
+
+
+  Oh, the wind, the wind,
+  And the white wake behind;
+  And the land
+  Of yellow sand,
+  Looming like a band
+  Of gold along the rim;
+  And the laughter of the sea,
+  And the sense of mystery,
+  In the dim
+  Stretch of lee,
+  Where the haze
+  In the blaze
+  Of heat seems to meet
+  The sky.
+  Oh, the happy sails that fly
+  To the east, to the south,
+  And the light-house at the mouth
+  Of the bay
+  With its gray
+  Granite spire
+  Bold against the higher
+  Lift o' green,
+  And a smoky tug-boat's trail
+  Flaunting like a tail
+  Of stormy cloud,
+  And a steamer in between
+  With her paddles whirring round.
+  Oh, a day upon the Sound,
+  With the wind, the wind,
+  Coming out behind,
+  And the feeling of content
+  That is lent
+  To the mind,
+  When the sailing breeze is fair,
+  And your only thought or care
+  Is to keep
+  The sails asleep,
+  And run,
+  Until the sun
+  Drops in the West--
+  Then rest is best.
+
+
+
+
+  THE HOMEWARD BOUNDER'S SONG.
+
+
+  There's many a ship with taller mast,
+    There's many of squarer yard,
+  There's many a one that sails as fast
+    And many that roll as hard;
+  With decks as white, with paint as bright,
+    With hull as staunch and sound;
+  But never ship that steers so light
+    As the ship that's homeward bound!
+
+  _Then give her a spoke, and keep her west,
+    Hurrah, for the world is round!
+  And here's to the ship that steers the best--
+    Hurrah for the homeward bound!_
+
+  There's many a port in distant land
+    And many a splendid sight,
+  Where turret slim and palace grand
+    Rise skyward tall and white;
+  Where castles rear, and far and near
+    Shines many a golden dome;
+  But never sight that's half so dear
+    As the dear old port at home.
+
+  _Then give her a spoke, and keep her west,
+    Hurrah for a breeze astern!
+  And here's to the port we love the best--
+    The port where the twin-lights burn!_
+
+  There's many a maid of fashion rare
+    In warm and palmy lands,
+  With sea-deep eyes and night-black hair
+    And brown and shapely hands;
+  With lips as red as ever led
+    The heart of a man to roam,
+  But never one we'd take instead
+    Of the girl that waits at home.
+
+  _Then give her a spoke and keep her west,
+    Hurrah for a wake of foam!
+  And here's to the girl we love the best--
+    The girl that we leave at home._
+
+
+
+
+  THE SPELL OF THE SEA.
+
+
+  By the sea I sit and dream
+    Of things that have passed, and now
+  Are fading as fades the gleam
+    Of sail on the ocean's brow,
+  And I hear that song again
+    She sang to the world before
+  Men had crossed her glit'ring plain
+    To die on the further shore.
+
+  'Tis a song that, like the wind
+    In a stormy counterpart,
+  Rouses and rolls the restless mind,
+    Till it breaks against the heart--
+  Till it hurls its foam amain
+    On the reefs which gird that lee--
+  And the heart is swept again
+    By that yearning for the sea.
+
+  Ah, the sea it sings that song
+    Whenever the moon is full--
+  Whenever the wind is strong,
+    And the tides are bountiful--
+  And it throws a spell o'er one
+    That my heart cannot withstand,
+  So clearly do I foresee
+    That I shall not die on land.
+
+
+
+
+  DAYS OF OAK.
+
+
+  I.
+
+  When ship met ship in olden days,
+    With battle banners flaunting,
+  From stem to stern the cannon's blaze
+    A fiery challenge vaunting--
+  Then man fought man, as brave men should,
+    To keep those walls of native wood.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  When broadsides roaring swept the deck,
+    And crews were madly cheering;
+  When sail and spar were shot to wreck,
+    And ships were swiftly nearing;
+  Then men faced death, as brave men should,
+    Behind their walls of native wood.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  When face to face and hand to hand--
+    When boarders' blades were flashing;
+  When bloody pikes made desperate stand,
+    And pistol balls were crashing--
+  Then man fought man, as brave men should,
+    To keep those walls of native wood.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  When valiant arms prevailed at last,
+    The foe for quarter crying,
+  The dying seaman eyed the mast,
+    And cheered his colors flying--
+  For men met death, as brave men should,
+    Behind their walls of native wood.
+
+
+
+
+  LONG, LONG AGO.
+
+
+  As slow our boat the water thro'
+    Is stealing on the breeze,
+  The curving sky a tender blue,
+    A deeper blue the seas;
+  We mark whereon the western edge
+    A band of coast is seen,
+  Where juts the cape and slopes the ledge,
+    A port is shut between.
+
+  On either side a sudden rise
+    Of black and broken rock
+  Thrusts out an arm that well defies
+    The frantic ocean's shock;
+  And from its point the sunken reef
+    Runs out a mile or more,
+  Where many a ship has come to grief
+    When breaking breakers roar.
+
+  Long, long ago, in sudden wrath
+    A storm burst on this land;
+  It caught a fleet within its path--
+    An admiral in command.
+  For three black days they fought the gale,
+    Then one by one they wore--
+  And reft of spar and stripped of sail
+    Went smashing on that shore.
+
+  Where red and rough the land-slip beach
+    Is touched by tiny waves--
+  Beyond the winter breaker's reach
+    They dug their shallow graves;
+  And with a prayer that half expressed
+    The sorrow that they knew,
+  They laid the admiral there to rest
+    Surrounded by his crew.
+
+  But, ah, to-day is sweet--and lo,
+    The ocean is at rest,
+  Save for a breathing low and slow
+    Of wind across its breast.
+  Far out beyond the cloudy forms
+    Are anchored on the edge--
+  It is no time to talk of storms,
+    Of wrecks upon the ledge.
+
+
+
+
+  WIND HAPPY SHIPS.
+
+
+  Wind happy ships, that rise and make
+    Across the gaping bay,
+  To dance like bubbles in the wake
+    Of westward flying day.
+
+  So quick they rise, so swift they flow,
+    So bright their topsails gleam,
+  They seem to come, and come and go
+    Like joy-thoughts in a dream.
+
+  Wind happy ships, in constant flight
+    Across the sloping main,
+  That thro' the dark and thro' the light
+    Sail on and on again.
+
+  A port ye have, I know not where--
+    'Tis far beyond my world--
+  But pray some day may find you there
+    With all your canvas furled.
+
+
+
+
+  THE QUEST.
+
+
+  My carrack rides the wave below,
+    The castle glooms above--
+  "Now who will sail the sea with me,
+    To find the man I love?"
+
+  Three pilots tall sit in the hall,
+    And drink my father's ale--
+  "Now one of three must go with me,
+    This ship of mine to sail."
+
+  Deep, deep they quaffed, and quaffing,
+    Struck the board with tankard chine--
+  "Now in what port, to East or West,
+    Dwells this true love of thine?"
+
+  "I seek no port to East or West,
+    But down beyond the rim,
+  By following far the falling star,
+    My ship will come to him.
+
+  "He rules a land of surfless shores,
+    Of deep enchanted bays;
+  Where time is twice as long again,
+    And half the nights are days;
+
+  "Where dreams are dreamt with open eyes;
+    Where love forbears to change;
+  And all that's new is old and sweet,
+    And all that's old is strange."
+
+  Loud, loud they laughed, and laughing,
+    Blew the foam from bearded lips
+  As blows the gale the whiter foam
+    From the bows of plunging ships.
+
+  Then up and spake the youngest one--
+    And laughter seamed his cheek--
+  "There is no port beyond the rim,
+    Such as the port you seek.
+
+  "The sea is wide, and isles may hide
+    Unknown to pilot's eye;
+  But this, methink, lies on the brink,
+    When glows the ev'ning sky:
+
+  "A vapory shore that fades before
+    The swift-advancing stars;
+  Where rides the moon on blue lagoon
+    Embayed by golden bars."
+
+  He ceased; and the boisterous laughter
+    Rose rumbling thro' the hall.
+  It swept like a gale among the mail,
+  And the banners shook like shivered sail,
+    As it rolled from wall to wall.
+
+  Then up and spake the second one:
+    "I fear not wind nor wave;
+  But this soft clime of twice-long time
+    Must lie beyond the grave.
+
+  "No seaman's skill, no pilot's art,
+    May find that port, I ween,
+  For God alone doth read the chart
+    Of that dark sea between.
+
+  "And though I serve my Lord and King
+    With head, and heart, and hand,
+  I will not make, for woman's sake,
+    A voyage to find that land!"
+
+  They laughed, but they laughed less lightly,
+    As though they felt their breath,
+  And cheered the jest to free the breast
+    From ugly thoughts of death.
+
+  The maiden stepp'd three paces back,
+    But nothing did she say--
+  She turned her eyes upon the west,
+  She signed the cross upon her breast,
+    Then bent her knee to pray.
+
+  Dear heart, but it was beautiful
+    To hear that maiden's prayer!
+  So strong of faith, so rich with love--
+  It seem'd as though the sun above
+    Slipp'd down to drink its share.
+
+  And the saint on the window painted
+    Looked down on her bended head,
+  As a father who lingers watching
+    Soft breathed above the dead--
+
+  Looked down from the glowing casement,
+    From the sun-lit crimson glass--
+  Then followed a murmur of whispered prayer,
+  And a silence descended unaware,
+    Like the silence of the mass.
+
+  Then up she rose like one refreshed,
+    Who bendeth o'er a stream
+  And drinketh deep, and in her eyes
+  There shone the light that mocks the wise
+    And maketh doubt a dream.
+
+  Then up she rose as one refreshed
+    And spake but once again:
+  "If you trust your heart above your art
+    Our search will not be vain."
+
+  Then stood and spake the oldest one:
+    "My eyes are true and keen,
+  And I have sailed for four-score years
+    Wherever ship hath been.
+
+  "From East to West, from North to South,
+    With every wind that blows,
+  I know no land beyond the rim
+    Where boundless bays repose;
+
+  "Where sleeps the sea along the strand
+    Of sky-like slopes that wear
+  So rich a light the very night
+    Forgets to linger there.
+
+  "It seems to me, if such there be,
+    No man could pass it by;
+  And I will make, for thy dear sake,
+    This voyage before I die.
+
+  "And if I fail that port to hail,
+    God fend my soul. Oh, pray!
+  The task I take for love's sweet sake
+    May wash some sins away."
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+_Underscores_ have indicate italics.
+
+The original book used hyphens inconsistently. The inconsistencies have
+been preserved.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of Sea and Sail, by Thomas Fleming Day
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43739 ***