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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 *** |