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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c17242 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52761 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52761) diff --git a/old/52761-0.txt b/old/52761-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9698d6c..0000000 --- a/old/52761-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2659 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Salt-Water Ballads, by John Masefield - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Salt-Water Ballads - -Author: John Masefield - -Release Date: August 9, 2016 [EBook #52761] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALT-WATER BALLADS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif , MWS, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - SALT-WATER BALLADS - - [Illustration: colophon] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO - - DALLAS · ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - - TORONTO - - - - - SALT-WATER - BALLADS - - BY - - JOHN MASEFIELD - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1915 - - Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1913 - Reprinted April, 1915. - - -Some of this book was written in my boyhood, all of it in my youth; it -is now re-issued, much as it was when first published nearly eleven -years ago. J. M. - -_9th June 1913_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -A CONSECRATION - -_Not of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers._ 1 - -THE YARN OF THE ‘LOCH ACHRAY’ - -The ‘Loch Achray’ was a clipper tall. 3 - -SING A SONG O’ SHIPWRECK - -He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea 7 - -BURIAL PARTY - -‘He’s deader ’n nails,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘’n’ -gone to his long sleep’ 11 - -BILL - -He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at the cold skies 14 - -FEVER SHIP - -There’ll be no weepin’ gells ashore when _our_ ship sails 15 - -FEVER-CHILLS - -He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the colour of paste 17 - -ONE OF THE BO’SUN’S YARNS - -Loafin’ around in Sailor Town, a-bluin’ o’ my advance 19 - -HELL’S PAVEMENT - -‘When I’m discharged in Liverpool ’n’ draws my bit o’ pay’ 25 - -SEA-CHANGE - -‘Goneys an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea’ 27 - -HARBOUR-BAR - -All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech 29 - -THE TURN OF THE TIDE - -An’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife 31 - -ONE OF WALLY’S YARNS - -The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making fast the sail 33 - -A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS) - -Is there anything as I can do ashore for you 35 - -A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM’S - -Oh yesterday, I t’ink it was, while cruisin’ down the street 38 - -‘PORT OF MANY SHIPS’ - -‘It’s a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come’ 40 - -CAPE HORN GOSPEL--I - -‘I was in a hooker once,’ said Karlssen 42 - -CAPE HORN GOSPEL--II - -Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an’ he gave the skipper chin 45 - -MOTHER CAREY - -Mother Carey? She’s the mother o’ the witches 48 - -EVENING--REGATTA DAY - -Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth’s a toothless wreck 50 - -A VALEDICTION - -We’re bound for blue water where the great winds blow 52 - -A PIER-HEAD CHORUS - -Oh, I’ll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread 54 - -THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY - -Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way 56 - -TRADE WINDS - -In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas 58 - -SEA-FEVER - -I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky 59 - -A WANDERER’S SONG - -A wind’s in the heart o’ me, a fire’s in my heels 61 - -CARDIGAN BAY - -Clean, green, windy billows notching out the sky 63 - -CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA - -A wind is rustling ‘south and soft’ 64 - -A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT - -‘Now, Bill, ain’t it prime to be a-sailin’ 66 - -THE TARRY BUCCANEER - -I’m going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot-gun 68 - -A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER - -We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull 71 - -LYRICS FROM ‘THE BUCCANEER’ - -I.--We are far from sight of the harbour lights 74 - -II.--There’s a sea-way somewhere where all day long 75 - -III.--The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth 76 - -D’AVALOS’ PRAYER - -When the last sea is sailed and the last shallow charted 77 - -THE WEST WIND - -It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries 79 - -THE GALLEY-ROWERS - -Staggering over the running combers 82 - -SORROW OF MYDATH - -Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea 84 - -VAGABOND - -Dunno a heap about the what an’ why 85 - -VISION - -I have drunken the red wine and flung the dice 86 - -SPUNYARN - -Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank 88 - -THE DEAD KNIGHT - -The cleanly rush of the mountain air 89 - -PERSONAL - -Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed the lighted inn 91 - -ON MALVERN HILL - -A wind is brushing down the clover 92 - -TEWKESBURY ROAD - -It is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where 94 - -ON EASTNOR KNOLL - -Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are 96 - -‘REST HER SOUL, SHE’S DEAD!’ - -She has done with the sea’s sorrow and the world’s way 97 - -‘ALL YE THAT PASS BY’ - -On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street 99 - -IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. - -Once in the windy wintry weather 101 - -TO-MORROW - -Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and deep 102 - -CAVALIER - -All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into rhyme 104 - -A SONG AT PARTING - -The tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will soon be still 106 - -GLOSSARY 109 - - -‘The mariners are a pleasant people, but little like those in the towns, -and they can speak no other language than that used in ships.’ - -_The Licenciate Vidriera._ - - - - -A CONSECRATION - - - _NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers_ - _Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the years,--_ - _Rather the scorned--the rejected--the men hemmed in with the spears;_ - - _The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies,_ - _Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries,_ - _The men with the broken heads and the blood running into their eyes._ - - _Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne,_ - _Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown,_ - _But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be known._ - - _Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of the road,_ - _The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on with the goad,_ - _The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a load._ - - _The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the clout,_ - _The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune to the shout,_ - _The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired look-out._ - - _Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the mirth,_ - _The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth;--_ - _Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of the earth!_ - - THEIRS _be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold;_ - _Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould._ - _Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain and the cold--_ - - _Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told._ - - AMEN. - - - - -THE YARN OF THE ‘LOCH ACHRAY’ - - - The ‘Loch Achray’ was a clipper tall - With seven-and-twenty hands in all. - Twenty to hand and reef and haul, - A skipper to sail and mates to bawl - ‘Tally on to the tackle-fall, - Heave now ’n’ start her, heave ’n’ pawl!’ - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - Her crew were shipped and they said ‘Farewell, - So-long, my Tottie, my lovely gell; - We sail to-day if we fetch to hell, - It’s time we tackled the wheel a spell.’ - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - The dockside loafers talked on the quay - The day that she towed down to sea: - ‘Lord, what a handsome ship she be! - Cheer her, sonny boys, three times three!’ - And the dockside loafers gave her a shout - As the red-funnelled tug-boat towed her out; - They gave her a cheer as the custom is, - And the crew yelled ‘Take our loves to Liz-- - Three cheers, bullies, for old Pier Head - ’N’ the bloody stay-at-homes!’ they said. - Hear the yarn of a sailor - An old yarn learned at sea. - - In the grey of the coming on of night - She dropped the tug at the Tuskar Light, - ’N’ the topsails went to the topmast head - To a chorus that fairly awoke the dead. - She trimmed her yards and slanted South - With her royals set and a bone in her mouth. - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - She crossed the Line and all went well, - They ate, they slept, and they struck the bell - And I give you a gospel truth when I state - The crowd didn’t find any fault with the Mate, - But one night off the River Plate. - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - It freshened up till it blew like thunder - And burrowed her deep, lee-scuppers under. - The old man said, ‘I mean to hang on - Till her canvas busts or her sticks are gone’-- - Which the blushing looney did, till at last - Overboard went her mizzen-mast. - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - Then a fierce squall struck the ‘Loch Achray’ - And bowed her down to her water-way; - Her main-shrouds gave and her forestay, - And a green sea carried her wheel away; - Ere the watch below had time to dress - She was cluttered up in a blushing mess. - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - She couldn’t lay-to nor yet pay-off, - And she got swept clean in the bloody trough; - Her masts were gone, and afore you knowed - She filled by the head and down she goed. - Her crew made seven-and-twenty dishes - For the big jack-sharks and the little fishes, - And over their bones the water swishes. - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - The wives and girls they watch in the rain - For a ship as won’t come home again. - ‘I reckon it’s them head-winds,’ they say, - ‘She’ll be home to-morrow, if not to-day. - I’ll just nip home ’n’ I’ll air the sheets - ’N’ buy the fixins ’n’ cook the meats - As my man likes ’n’ as my man eats.’ - - So home they goes by the windy streets, - Thinking their men are homeward bound - With anchors hungry for English ground, - And the bloody fun of it is, they’re drowned! - Hear the yarn of a sailor, - An old yarn learned at sea. - - - - -SING A SONG O’ SHIPWRECK - - - He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea, - With ear-rings of brass and a jumper of dungaree, - ‘’N’ many a queer lash-up have I seen,’ says he. - - ‘But the toughest hooray o’ the racket,’ he says, ‘I’ll be sworn, - ’N’ the roughest traverse I worked since the day I was born, - Was a packet o’ Sailor’s Delight as I scoffed in the seas o’ the Horn. - - ‘All day long in the calm she had rolled to the swell, - Rolling through fifty degrees till she clattered her bell; - ’N’ then came snow, ’n’ a squall, ’n’ a wind was colder ’n hell. - - ‘It blew like the Bull of Barney, a beast of a breeze, - ’N’ over the rail come the cold green lollopin’ seas, - ’N’ she went ashore at the dawn on the Ramirez. - - ‘She was settlin’ down by the stern when I got to the deck, - Her waist was a smother o’ sea as was up to your neck, - ’N’ her masts were gone, ’n’ her rails, ’n’ she was a wreck. - - ‘We rigged up a tackle, a purchase, a sort of a shift, - To hoist the boats off o’ the deck-house and get them adrift, - When her stern gives a sickenin’ settle, her bows give a lift, - - ‘’N’ comes a crash of green water as sets me afloat - With freezing fingers clutching the keel of a boat-- - The bottom-up whaler--’n’ that was the juice of a note. - - ‘Well, I clambers acrost o’ the keel ’n’ I gets me secured, - When I sees a face in the white o’ the smother to looard, - So I gives ’im a ’and, ’n’ be shot if it wasn’t the stooard! - - ‘So he climbs up forrard o’ me, ’n’ “thanky,” a’ says, - ’N’ we sits ’n’ shivers ’n’ freeze to the bone wi’ the sprays, - ’N’ _I_ sings “Abel Brown,” ’n’ the stooard he prays. - - ‘Wi’ never a dollop to sup nor a morsel to bite, - The lips of us blue with the cold ’n’ the heads of us light, - Adrift in a Cape Horn sea for a day ’n’ a night. - - ‘’N’ then the stooard goes dotty ’n’ puts a tune to his lip, - ’N’ moans about Love like a dern old hen wi’ the pip-- - (I sets no store upon stooards--they ain’t no use on a ship). - - ‘’N’ “mother,” the looney cackles, “come ’n’ put Willy to bed!” - So I says “Dry up, or I’ll fetch you a crack o’ the head”; - “The kettle’s a-bilin’,” he answers, “’n’ I’ll go butter the bread.” - - ‘’N’ he falls to singin’ some slush about clinkin’ a can, - ’N’ at last he dies, so he does, ’n’ I tells you, Jan, - I was glad when he did, for he weren’t no fun for a man. - - ‘So he falls forrard, he does, ’n’ he closes his eye, - ’N’ quiet he lays ’n’ quiet I leaves him lie, - ’N’ I was alone with his corp, ’n’ the cold green sea and the sky. - - ‘’N’ then I dithers, I guess, for the next as I knew - Was the voice of a mate as was sayin’ to one of the crew, - “Easy, my son, wi’ the brandy, be shot if he ain’t comin’-to!”’ - - - - -BURIAL PARTY - - - ‘He’s deader ’n nails,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘’n’ gone to his long sleep’; - ‘’N’ about his corp,’ said Tom to Dan, ‘d’ye think his corp’ll keep - Till the day’s done, ’n’ the work’s through, ’n’ the ebb’s upon - the neap?’ - - ‘He’s deader ’n nails,’ said Dan to Tom, ‘’n’ I wish his sperrit j’y; - He spat straight ’n’ he steered true, but listen to me, say I, - Take ’n’ cover ’n’ bury him now, ’n’ I’ll take ’n’ tell you why. - - ‘It’s a rummy rig of a guffy’s yarn, ’n’ the juice of a rummy note, - But if you buries a corp at night, it takes ’n’ keeps afloat, - For its bloody soul’s afraid o’ the dark ’n’ sticks within the throat. - - ‘’N’ all the night till the grey o’ the dawn the dead ’un has to swim - With a blue ’n’ beastly Will o’ the Wisp a-burnin’ over him, - With a herring, maybe, a-scoffin’ a toe or a shark a-chewin’ a limb. - - ‘’N’ all the night the shiverin’ corp it has to swim the sea, - With its shudderin’ soul inside the throat (where a soul’s no - right to be), - Till the sky’s grey ’n’ the dawn’s clear, ’n’ then the sperrit’s free. - - ‘Now Joe was a man was right as rain. I’m sort of sore for Joe, - ’N’ if we bury him durin’ the day, his soul can take ’n’ go; - So we’ll dump his corp when the bell strikes ’n’ we can get below. - - ‘I’d fairly hate for him to swim in a blue ’n’ beastly light, - With his shudderin’ soul inside of him a-feelin’ the fishes bite, - So over he goes at noon, say I, ’n’ he shall sleep to-night.’ - - - - -BILL - - - He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at the cold skies, - With never a friend to mourn for him nor a hand to close his eyes: - ‘Bill, he’s dead,’ was all they said; ‘he’s dead, ’n’ there he lies.’ - - The mate came forrard at seven bells and spat across the rail: - ‘Just lash him up wi’ some holystone in a clout o’ rotten sail, - ’N’, rot ye, get a gait on ye, ye’re slower’n a bloody snail!’ - - When the rising moon was a copper disc and the sea was a strip of steel, - We dumped him down to the swaying weeds ten fathom beneath the keel. - ‘It’s rough about Bill,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘we’ll have to stand - his wheel.’ - - - - -FEVER SHIP - - - There’ll be no weepin’ gells ashore when _our_ ship sails, - Nor no crews cheerin’ us, standin’ at the rails, - ’N’ no Blue Peter a-foul the royal stay, - For we’ve the Yellow Fever--Harry died to-day.-- - It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever! - - ’N’ Dick has got the fever-shakes, ’n’ look what I was told - (I went to get a sack for him to keep him from the cold): - ‘Sir, can I have a sack?’ I says, ‘for Dick ’e’s fit to die.’ - ‘Oh, sack be shot!’ the skipper says, ‘jest let the rotter lie!’-- - It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever! - - It’s a cruel port is Santos, and a hungry land, - With rows o’ graves already dug in yonder strip of sand, - ’N’ Dick is hollerin’ up the hatch, ’e says ’e’s goin’ blue, - His pore teeth are chattering, ’n’ what’s a man to do?-- - It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever! - - - - -FEVER-CHILLS - - - He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the colour of paste, - And shivered a spell and mopped his brow with a clout of cotton waste: - ‘I’ve a lick of fever-chills,’ he said, ‘’n’ my inside it’s green, - But I’d be as right as rain,’ he said, ‘if I had some quinine,-- - But there ain’t no quinine for us poor sailor-men. - - ‘But them there passengers,’ he said, ‘if they gets fever-chills, - There’s brimmin’ buckets o’ quinine for them, ’n’ bulgin’ crates - o’ pills, - ’N’ a doctor with Latin ’n’ drugs ’n’ all--enough to sink a town, - ’N’ they lies quiet in their blushin’ bunks ’n’ mops their gruel down,-- - But their ain’t none o’ them fine ways for us poor sailor-men. - - ‘But the Chief comes forrard ’n’ he says, says he, “I gives you - a straight tip: - Come none o’ your Cape Horn fever lays aboard o’ this yer ship. - On wi’ your rags o’ duds, my son, ’n’ aft, ’n’ down the hole: - The best cure known for fever-chills is shovelling bloody coal.” - It’s _hard_, my son, that’s what it is, for us poor sailor-men.’ - - - - -ONE OF THE BO’SUN’S YARNS - - - Loafin’ around in Sailor Town, a-bluin’ o’ my advance, - I met a derelict donkeyman who led me a merry dance, - Till he landed me ’n’ bleached me fair in the bar of a rum-saloon, - ’N’ there he spun me a juice of a yarn to this-yer brand of tune. - - ‘It’s a solemn gospel, mate,’ he says, ‘but a man as ships aboard - A steamer-tramp, he gets his whack of the wonders of the Lord-- - Such as roaches crawlin’ over his bunk, ’n’ snakes inside his bread, - And work by night and work by day enough to strike him dead. - - ‘But that there’s by the way,’ says he; ‘the yarn I’m goin’ to spin - Is about myself ’n’ the life I led in the last ship I was in, - The “Esmeralda,” casual tramp, from Hull towards the Hook, - Wi’ one o’ the brand o’ Cain for mate ’n’ a human mistake for cook. - - ‘We’d a week or so of dippin’ around in a wind from outer hell, - With a fathom or more of broken sea at large in the forrard well, - Till our boats were bashed and bust and broke and gone to Davy Jones, - ’N’ then come white Atlantic fog as chilled us to the bones. - - ‘We slowed her down and started the horn and watch and watch about, - We froze the marrow in all our bones a-keepin’ a good look-out, - ’N’ the ninth night out, in the middle watch, I woke from a pleasant - dream, - With the smash of a steamer ramming our plates a point abaft the beam. - - ‘’Twas cold and dark when I fetched the deck, dirty ’n’ cold ’n’ thick, - ’N’ there was a feel in the way she rode as fairly turned me sick;-- - She was settlin’, listin’ quickly down, ’n’ I heard the mates a-cursin’, - ’N’ I heard the wash ’n’ the grumble-grunt of a steamer’s screws - reversin’. - - ‘She was leavin’ us, mate, to sink or swim, ’n’ the words we took - ’n’ said - They turned the port-light grassy-green ’n’ the starboard rosy-red. - We give her a hot perpetual taste of the singeing curse of Cain, - As we heard her back ’n’ clear the wreck ’n’ off to her course again. - - ‘Then the mate came dancin’ on to the scene, ’n’ he says, “Now quit - yer chin, - Or I’ll smash yer skulls, so help me James, ’n’ let some wisdom in. - Ye dodderin’ scum o’ the slums,” he says, “are ye drunk or blazin’ daft? - If ye wish to save yer sickly hides, ye’d best contrive a raft.” - - ‘So he spoke us fair and turned us to, ’n’ we wrought wi’ tooth and nail - Wi’ scantling, casks, ’n’ coops ’n’ ropes, ’n’ boiler-plates ’n’ sail, - ’N’ all the while it were dark ’n’ cold ’n’ dirty as it could be, - ’N’ she was soggy ’n’ settlin’ down to a berth beneath the sea. - - ‘Soggy she grew, ’n’ she didn’t lift, ’n’ she listed more ’n’ more, - Till her bell struck ’n’ her boiler-pipes began to wheeze ’n’ snore; - She settled, settled, listed, heeled, ’n’ then may I be cust, - If her sneezin’, wheezin’ boiler-pipes did not begin to bust! - - ‘’N’ then the stars began to shine, ’n’ the birds began to sing, - ’N’ the next I knowed I was bandaged up ’n’ my arm were in a sling, - ’N’ a swab in uniform were there, ’n’ “Well,” says he, “’n’ how - Are yer arms, ’n’ legs, ’n’ liver, ’n’ lungs, ’n’ bones a-feelin’ now?” - - “Where am I?” says I, ’n’ he says, says he, a-cantin’ to the roll, - “You’re aboard the R.M.S. ‘Marie’ in the after Glory-Hole, - ’N’ you’ve had a shave, if you wish to know, from the port o’ - Kingdom Come. - Drink this,” he says, ’n’ I takes ’n’ drinks, ’n’ s’elp me, it was rum! - - ‘Seven survivors seen ’n’ saved of the “Esmeralda’s” crowd, - Taken aboard the sweet “Marie” ’n’ bunked ’n’ treated proud, - ’N’ D.B.S.’d to Mersey Docks (’n’ a joyful trip we made), - ’N’ there the skipper were given a purse by a grateful Board of Trade. - - ‘That’s the end o’ the yarn,’ he says, ’n’ he takes ’n’ wipes his lips, - Them’s the works o’ the Lord you sees in steam ’n’ sailin’ ships,-- - Rocks ’n’ fogs ’n’ shatterin’ seas ’n’ breakers right ahead, - ’N’ work o’ nights ’n’ work o’ days enough to strike you dead.’ - - - - -HELL’S PAVEMENT - - - ‘When I’m discharged in Liverpool ’n’ draws my bit o’ pay, - I won’t come to sea no more. - I’ll court a pretty little lass ’n’ have a weddin’ day, - ’N’ settle somewhere down ashore. - I’ll never fare to sea again a-temptin’ Davy Jones, - A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin’ for my bones; - I’ll run a blushin’ dairy-farm or go a-crackin’ stones, - Or buy ’n’ keep a little liquor-store,’-- - So he said. - - They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the hooker fast, - And the copper-bound officials paid the crew, - And Billy drew his money, but the money didn’t last, - For he painted the alongshore blue,-- - It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for Jolly Jack. - He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his back, - He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sack - To sleep on, when his watch was through,-- - So he did. - - - - -SEA-CHANGE - - - ‘Goneys an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea, - They ain’t no birds, not really,’ said Billy the Dane. - Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,’ said he, - ‘But simply the sperrits of mariners livin’ again. - - ‘Them birds goin’ fishin’ is nothin’ but souls o’ the drowned, - Souls o’ the drowned an’ the kicked as are never no more; - An’ that there haughty old albatross cruisin’ around, - Belike he’s Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah. - - An’ merry’s the life they are living. They settle and dip, - They fishes, they never stands watches, they waggle their wings; - When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship - To see how the nowaday mariners manages things. - - ‘When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish-- - (Though maybe it ain’t like a Christian)--I wish I could be - A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fish - And coming the proud over all o’ the birds o’ the sea.’ - - - - -HARBOUR-BAR - - - All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech, - The white line of the running surf goes booming down the beach, - But I shall never see them, though the land lies close aboard, - I’ve shaped the last long silent tack as takes one to the Lord. - - Give me the Scripters, Jakey, ’n’ my pipe atween my lips, - I’m bound for somewhere south and far beyond the track of ships; - I’ve run my rags of colours up and clinched them to the stay, - And God the pilot’s come aboard to bring me up the bay. - - You’ll mainsail-haul my bits o’ things when Christ has took my soul, - ’N’ you’ll lay me quiet somewhere at the landward end the Mole, - Where I shall hear the steamers’ sterns a-squattering from the heave, - And the topsail blocks a-piping when a rope-yarn fouls the sheave. - - Give me a sup of lime-juice; Lord, I’m drifting in to port, - The landfall lies to windward and the wind comes light and short, - And I’m for signing off and out to take my watch below, - And--prop a fellow, Jakey--Lord, it’s time for me to go! - - - - -THE TURN OF THE TIDE - - - An’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife, - You can divvy up the dungarees an’ bed, - An’ the ship can have my blessing, an’ the Lord can have my life, - An’ sails an’ fish my body when I’m dead. - - An’ dreaming down below there in the tangled greens an’ blues, - Where the sunlight shudders golden round about, - I shall hear the ships complainin’ an’ the cursin’ of the crews, - An’ be sorry when the watch is tumbled out. - - I shall hear them hilly-hollying the weather crojick brace, - And the sucking of the wash about the hull; - When they chanty up the topsail I’ll be hauling in my place, - For my soul will follow seawards like a gull. - - I shall hear the blocks a-grunting in the bumpkins over-side, - An’ the slatting of the storm-sails on the stay, - An’ the rippling of the catspaw at the making of the tide, - An’ the swirl and splash of porpoises at play. - - An’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife, - You can divvy up the whack I haven’t scofft, - An’ the ship can have my blessing and the Lord can have my life, - For it’s time I quit the deck and went aloft. - - - - -ONE OF WALLY’S YARNS - - - The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making fast the sail, - ’N’ Joe was swiggin’ his gasket taut, ’n’ I felt the stirrup _give_, - ’N’ he dropped sheer from the tops’l-yard ’n’ barely cleared the rail, - ’N’ o’ course, we bein’ aloft, _we_ couldn’t do nothin’-- - We couldn’t lower a boat and go a-lookin’ for him, - For it blew hard ’n’ there was sech a sea runnin’ - That no boat wouldn’t live. - - I seed him rise in the white o’ the wake, I seed him lift a hand - (’N’ him in his oilskin suit ’n’ all), I heard him lift a cry; - ’N’ there was his place on the yard ’n’ all, ’n’ the stirrup’s - busted strand. - ’N’ the old man said there’s a cruel old sea runnin’, - A cold green Barney’s Bull of a sea runnin’; - It’s hard, but I ain’t agoin’ to let a boat be lowered: - So we left him there to die. - - He couldn’t have kept afloat for long an’ him lashed up ’n’ all, - ’N’ we couldn’t see him for long, for the sea was blurred with - the sleet ’n’ snow, - ’N’ we couldn’t think of him much because o’ the snortin’, - screamin’ squall. - There was a hand less at the halliards ’n’ the braces, - ’N’ a name less when the watch spoke to the muster-roll, - ’N’ a empty bunk ’n’ a pannikin as wasn’t wanted - When the watch went below. - - - - -A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS) - - - A CRIMP. A DRUNKEN SAILOR. - - _Is there anything as I can do ashore for you_ - _When you’ve dropped down the tide?_-- - - You can take ’n’ tell Nan I’m goin’ about the world agen - ’N’ that the world’s wide. - ’N’ tell her that there ain’t no postal service - Not down on the blue sea. - ’N’ tell her that she’d best not keep her fires alight - Nor set up late for me. - ’N’ tell her I’ll have forgotten all about her - Afore we cross the Line. - ’N’ tell her that the dollars of any other sailor-man - Is as good red gold as mine. - - _Is there anything as I can do aboard for you_ - _Afore the tow-rope’s taut?_ - - I’m new to this packet and all the ways of her, - ’N’ I don’t know of aught; - But I knows as I’m goin’ down to the seas agen - ’N’ the seas are salt ’n’ drear; - But I knows as all the doin’ as you’re man enough for - Won’t make them lager-beer. - - _’N’ ain’t there_ nothin’ _as I can do ashore for you_ - _When you’ve got fair afloat?_-- - - You can buy a farm with the dollars as you’ve done me of - ’N’ cash my advance-note. - - _Is there anythin’ you’d fancy for your breakfastin’_ - _When you’re home across Mersey Bar?_-- - - I wants a red herrin’ n’ a prairie oyster - ’N’ a bucket of Three Star, - ’N’ a gell with redder lips than Polly has got, - ’N’ prettier ways than Nan---- - - _Well, so-long, Billy, ’n’ a spankin’ heavy pay-day to you!_ - - So-long, my fancy man! - - - - -A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM’S - - - Oh yesterday, I t’ink it was, while cruisin’ down the street, - I met with Bill.--‘Hullo,’ he says, ‘let’s give the girls a treat.’ - We’d red bandanas round our necks ’n’ our shrouds new rattled down, - So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for Sailor Town. - - We scooted south with a press of sail till we fetched to a caboose, - The ‘Sailor’s Rest,’ by Dago Tom, alongside ‘Paddy’s Goose.’ - Red curtains to the windies, ay, ’n’ white sand to the floor, - And an old blind fiddler liltin’ the tune of ‘Lowlands no more.’ - - He played the ‘Shaking of the Sheets’ ’n’ the couples did advance, - Bowing, stamping, curtsying, in the shuffling of the dance; - The old floor rocked and quivered, so it struck beholders dumb, - ’N’ arterwards there was sweet songs ’n’ good Jamaikey rum. - - ’N’ there was many a merry yarn of many a merry spree - Aboard the ships with royals set a-sailing on the sea, - Yarns of the hooker ‘Spindrift,’ her as had the clipper-bow,-- - ‘There ain’t no ships,’ says Bill to me, ‘like that there hooker now.’ - - When the old blind fiddler played the tune of ‘Pipe the Watch Below,’ - The skew-eyed landlord dowsed the glim and bade us ‘stamp ’n’ go,’ - ’N’ we linked it home, did Bill ’n’ I, adown the scattered streets, - Until we fetched to Land o’ Nod atween the linen sheets. - - - - -‘PORT OF MANY SHIPS’ - - - ‘It’s a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come, - Where crews is always layin’ aft for double-tots o’ rum, - ’N’ there’s dancin’ ’n’ fiddlin’ of ev’ry kind o’ sort, - It’s a fine place for sailor-men is that there port. - ’N’ I wish-- - I wish as I was there. - - ‘The winds is never nothin’ more than jest light airs, - ’N’ no-one gets belayin’-pinned, ’n’ no-one never swears, - Yer free to loaf an’ laze around, yer pipe atween yer lips, - Lollin’ on the fo’c’s’le, sonny, lookin’ at the ships. - ’N’ I wish-- - I wish as I was there. - - ‘For ridin’ in the anchorage the ships of all the world - Have got one anchor down ’n’ all sails furled. - All the sunken hookers ’n’ the crews as took ’n’ died - They lays there merry, sonny, swingin’ to the tide. - ’N’ I wish-- - I wish as I was there. - - ‘Drowned old wooden hookers green wi’ drippin’ wrack, - Ships as never fetched to port, as never came back, - Swingin’ to the blushin’ tide, dippin’ to the swell, - ’N’ the crews all singin’, sonny, beatin’ on the bell. - ’N’ I wish-- - I wish as I was there. - - - - -CAPE HORN GOSPEL--I - - - ‘I was in a hooker once,’ said Karlssen, - ‘And Bill, as was a seaman, died, - So we lashed him in an old tarpaulin - And tumbled him across the side; - And the fun of it was that all his gear was - Divided up among the crew - Before that blushing human error, - Our crawling little captain, knew. - - ‘On the passage home one morning - (As certain as I prays for grace) - There was old Bill’s shadder a-hauling - At the weather mizzen-topsail brace. - He was all grown green with sea-weed, - He was all lashed up and shored; - So I says to him, I says, “Why, Billy! - What’s a-bringin’ of you back aboard?” - - ’“I’m a-weary of them there mermaids,” - Says old Bill’s ghost to me; - “It ain’t no place for a Christian - Below there--under sea. - For it’s all blown sand and shipwrecks, - And old bones eaten bare, - And them cold fishy females - With long green weeds for hair. - - ’“And there ain’t no dances shuffled, - And no old yarns is spun, - And there ain’t no stars but starfish, - And never any moon or sun. - I heard your keel a-passing - And the running rattle of the brace,” - And he says, “Stand by,” says William, - “For a shift towards a better place.” - - ‘Well, he sogered about decks till sunrise, - When a rooster in the hen-coop crowed, - And as so much smoke he faded - And as so much smoke he goed; - And I’ve often wondered since, Jan, - How his old ghost stands to fare - Long o’ them cold fishy females - With long green weeds for hair.’ - - - - -CAPE HORN GOSPEL--II - - - Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an’ he gave the skipper chin, - An’ the skipper up an’ took him a crack with an iron belaying-pin - Which stiffened him out a rusty corp, as pretty as you could wish, - An’ then we shovelled him up in a sack an’ dumped him to the fish. - That was jest arter we’d got sail on her. - - Josey slipped from the tops’l-yard an’ bust his bloody back - (Which corned from playing the giddy goat an’ leavin’ go the jack); - We lashed his chips in clouts of sail an’ ballasted him with stones, - ‘The Lord hath taken away,’ we says, an’ we give him to Davy Jones. - An’ that was afore we were up with the Line. - - Joe were chippin’ a rusty plate a-squattin’ upon the deck, - An’ all the watch he had the sun a-singein’ him on the neck, - An’ forrard he falls at last, he does, an’ he lets his mallet go, - Dead as a nail with a calenture, an’ that was the end of Joe. - An’ that was just afore we made the Plate. - - All o’ the rest were sailor-men, an’ it come to rain an’ squall, - An’ then it was halliards, sheets, an ’tacks ‘clue up, an’ let go all.’ - We snugged her down an’ hove her to, an’ the old contrairy cuss - Started a plate, an’ settled an’ sank, an’ that was the end of us. - - We slopped around on coops an’ planks in the cold an’ in the dark, - An’ Bill were drowned, an’ Tom were ate by a swine of a cruel shark, - An’ a mail-boat reskied Harry an’ I (which comed of pious prayers), - Which brings me here a-kickin’ my heels in the port of Buenos Ayres. - - I’m bound for home in the ‘Oronook,’ in a suit of looted duds, - A D.B.S. a-earnin’ a stake by helpin’ peelin’ spuds, - An’ if ever I fetch to Prince’s Stage an’ sets my feet ashore, - You bet your hide that there I stay, an’ follers the sea no more. - - - - -MOTHER CAREY - -(AS TOLD ME BY THE BO’SUN) - - - Mother Carey? She’s the mother o’ the witches - ’N’ all _them_ sort o’ rips; - She’s a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is, - She’s a sight too fond of ships. - She lives upon a iceberg to the norred, - ’N’ her man he’s Davy Jones, - ’N’ she combs the weeds upon her forred - With pore drowned sailors’ bones. - - She’s the mother o’ the wrecks, ’n’ the mother - Of all big winds as blows; - She’s up to some deviltry or other - When it storms, or sleets, or snows. - The noise of the wind’s her screamin’, - ‘I’m arter a plump, young, fine, - Brass-buttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam’n - So as me ’n’ my mate kin dine.’ - - She’s a hungry old rip ’n’ a cruel - For sailor-men like we, - She’s give a many mariners the gruel - ’N’ a long sleep under sea. - She’s the blood o’ many a crew upon her - ’N’ the bones of many a wreck, - ’N’ she’s barnacles a-growin’ on her - ’N’ shark’s teeth round her neck. - - I ain’t never had no schoolin’ - Nor read no books like you, - But I knows ’t ain’t healthy to be foolin’ - With that there gristly two. - You’re young, you thinks, ’n’ you’re lairy, - But if you’re to make old bones, - Steer clear, I says, o’ Mother Carey, - ’N’ that there Davy Jones. - - - - -EVENING--REGATTA DAY - - - Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth’s a toothless wreck, - And I’m atop of you, banging your head upon the dirty deck; - And both your eyes are bunged and blind like those of a mewling pup, - For you’re the juggins who caught the crab and lost the ship the Cup. - - He caught a crab in the spurt home, this blushing cherub did, - And the ‘Craigie’s’ whaler slipped ahead like a cart-wheel on the skid, - And beat us fair by a boat’s nose though we sweated fit to start her, - So we are playing at Nero now, and _he’s_ the Christian martyr. - - And Stroke is lashing a bunch of keys to the buckle-end a belt, - And we’re going to lay you over a chest and baste you till you melt. - The ‘Craigie’ boys are beating the bell and cheering down the tier, - D’ye hear, you Port Mahone baboon, I ask you, do you _hear_? - - - - -A VALEDICTION - - - We’re bound for blue water where the great winds blow, - It’s time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go; - The crowd’s at the capstan and the tune’s in the shout, - ‘A long pull, a strong pull, _and warp the hooker out_.’ - - The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows, - Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a rouse; - A salt Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead, - ‘A long pull, a strong pull, _and the yard to the mast-head_.’ - - Green and merry run the seas, the wind comes cold, - Salt and strong and pleasant, and worth a mint of gold; - And she’s staggering, swooping, as she feels her feet, - ‘A long pull, a strong pull, _and aft the main-sheet_.’ - - Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-gear strains, - Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil’s in the chains; - Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned, - ‘A long pull, a strong pull, _and we’re outward bound_.’ - - Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon, - The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, soon - We’ll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you steer, - ‘Ease her when she pitches, _and so-long, my dear_.’ - - - - -A PIER-HEAD CHORUS - - - Oh I’ll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread, - And dancing with the stars to watch, upon the fo’c’s’le head, - Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the tread - Of a thousand tons of clipper running free. - - For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us to the Downs, - Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens and browns, - And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of towns - For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea. - - We’ll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer down the Bay, - The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred and grey; - The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing into spray, - As the hooker’s fore-foot tramples down the swell. - - She’ll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the reel, - The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing to feel, - As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to take the wheel, - And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell. - - - - -THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY - - - Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way, - Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay, - And there’s the Blessed City--so the sailors say-- - The Golden City of St. Mary. - - It’s built of fair marble--white--without a stain, - And in the cool twilight when the sea-winds wane - The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain, - In the Golden City of St. Mary. - - Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies shine, - Are the white tavern tables where the gallants dine, - Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled wine, - In the Golden City of St. Mary. - - Oh I’ll be shipping sunset-wards and westward-ho - Through the green toppling combers a-shattering into snow, - Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below, - In the Golden City of St. Mary. - - - - -TRADE WINDS - - - In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas, - Are the tiny white houses and the orange-trees, - And day-long, night long, the cool and pleasant breeze - Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. - - There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale, - The shuffle of the dancers, the old salt’s tale, - The squeaking fiddle, and the soughing in the sail - Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. - - And o’ nights there’s fire-flies and the yellow moon, - And in the ghostly palm-trees the sleepy tune - Of the quiet voice calling me, the long low croon - Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. - - - - -SEA-FEVER - - - I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, - And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, - And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, - And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking. - - I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide - Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; - And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, - And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. - - I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life, - To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like - a whetted knife; - And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, - And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over. - - - - -A WANDERER’S SONG - - - A wind’s in the heart of me, a fire’s in my heels, - I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels; - I hunger for the sea’s edge, the limits of the land, - Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand. - - Oh I’ll be going, leaving the noises of the street, - To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet; - To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride, - Oh I’ll be going, going, until I meet the tide. - - And first I’ll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls, - The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls, - The songs at the capstan in the hooker warping out, - And then the heart of me’ll know I’m there or thereabout. - - Oh I am tired of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick, - For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick; - And I’ll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels, - For a wind’s in the heart of me, a fire’s in my heels. - - - - -CARDIGAN BAY - - - Clean, green, windy billows notching out the sky, - Grey clouds tattered into rags, sea-winds blowing high, - And the ships under topsails, beating, thrashing by, - And the mewing of the herring gulls. - - Dancing, flashing green seas shaking white locks, - Boiling in blind eddies over hidden rocks, - And the wind in the rigging, the creaking of the blocks, - And the straining of the timber hulls. - - Delicate, cool sea-weeds, green and amber-brown, - In beds where shaken sunlight slowly filters down - On many a drowned seventy-four, many a sunken town, - And the whitening of the dead men’s skulls. - - - - -CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA - - - A wind is rustling ‘south and soft,’ - Cooing a quiet country tune, - The calm sea sighs, and far aloft - The sails are ghostly in the moon. - - Unquiet ripples lisp and purr, - A block there pipes and chirps i’ the sheave, - The wheel-ropes jar, the reef-points stir - Faintly--and it is Christmas Eve. - - The hushed sea seems to hold her breath, - And o’er the giddy, swaying spars, - Silent and excellent as Death, - The dim blue skies are bright with stars. - - Dear God--they shone in Palestine - Like this, and yon pale moon serene - Looked down among the lowing kine - On Mary and the Nazarene. - - The angels called from deep to deep, - The burning heavens felt the thrill, - Startling the flocks of silly sheep - And lonely shepherds on the hill. - - To-night beneath the dripping bows - Where flashing bubbles burst and throng, - The bow-wash murmurs and sighs and soughs - A message from the angels’ song. - - The moon goes nodding down the west, - The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell; - _Rex Judæorum natus est_, - I charge you, brothers, sing _Nowell, Nowell,_ - _Rex Judæorum natus est_. - - - - -A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT - - - Now, Bill, ain’t it prime to be a-sailin’, - Slippin’ easy, splashin’ up the sea, - Dossin’ snug aneath the weather-railin’, - Quiddin’ bonded Jacky out a-lee? - English sea astern us and afore us, - Reaching out three thousand miles ahead, - God’s own stars a-risin’ solemn o’er us, - And--yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. - - There they lie, Bill, man and mate together, - Dreamin’ out the dog-watch down below, - Anchored in the Port of Pleasant Weather, - Waiting for the Bo’sun’s call to blow. - Over them the tide goes lappin’, swayin’, - Under them’s the wide bay’s muddy bed, - And it’s pleasant dreams--to them--to hear us sayin’, - Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. - - Hear that P. and O. boat’s engines dronin’, - Beating out of time and out of tune, - Ripping past with every plate a-groanin’, - Spitting smoke and cinders at the moon? - Ports a-lit like little stars a-settin’, - See ’em glintin’ yaller, green, and red, - Loggin’ twenty knots, Bill,--but forgettin’, - Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. - - They’re ‘discharged’ now, Billy, ‘left the service,’ - Rough an’ bitter was the watch they stood, - Drake an’ Blake, an’ Collingwood an’ Jervis, - Nelson, Rodney, Hawke, an’ Howe an’ Hood. - They’d a hard time, haulin’ an’ directin’, - There’s the flag they left us, Billy--tread - Straight an’ keep it flyin’--recollectin’, - Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead. - - - - -THE TARRY BUCCANEER - - - I’m going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot-gun, - And an island in the Spanish Main beyond the setting sun, - And a silver flagon full of red wine to drink when work is done, - Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer. - - With a sandy creek to careen in, and a pig-tailed Spanish mate, - And under my main-hatches a sparkling merry freight - Of doubloons and double moidores and pieces of eight, - Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer. - - With a taste for Spanish wine-shops and for spending my doubloons, - And a crew of swart mulattoes and black-eyed octoroons, - And a thoughtful way with mutineers of making them maroons, - Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer. - - With a sash of crimson velvet and a diamond-hilted sword, - And a silver whistle about my neck secured to a golden cord, - And a habit of taking captives and walking them along a board, - Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer. - - With a spy-glass tucked beneath my arm and a cocked hat cocked askew, - And a long low rakish schooner a-cutting of the waves in two, - And a flag of skull and cross-bones the wickedest that ever flew, - Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer. - - - - -A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER - - - We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull, - And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones and the skull; - We’d a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore, - And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore. - - We’d a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship, - We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip; - It’s a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored, - But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard. - - Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains, - And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with other people’s brains, - She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank, - And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank. - - O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop) - We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken-coop; - Then, having washed the blood away, we’d little else to do - Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to. - - O! the fiddle on the fo’c’s’le, and the slapping naked soles, - And the genial ‘Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!’ - With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead, - And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red. - - Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played, - All have since been put a stop-to by the naughty Board of Trade; - The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest, - A little south the sunset in the Islands of the Blest. - - - - -LYRICS FROM ‘THE BUCCANEER’ - - -I - - We are far from sight of the harbour lights, - Of the sea-ports whence we came, - But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites, - And our hearts are turned to flame. - - And merry and rich is the goodly gear - We’ll win upon the tossing sea, - A silken gown for my dainty dear, - And a gold doubloon for me. - - It’s the old old road and the old old quest - Of the cut-throat sons of Cain, - South by west and a quarter west, - And hey for the Spanish Main. - - -II - - There’s a sea-way somewhere where all day long - Is the hushed susurrus of the sea, - The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor’s song, - And the wind’s cry calling me. - - There’s a haven somewhere where the quiet of the bay - Is troubled with the shifting tide, - Where the gulls are flying, crying in the bright white spray, - And the tan-sailed schooners ride. - - -III - - The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth - Are spattering the bows with foam, - And the anchor’s catted, and she’s heading for the south - With her topsails sheeted home. - - And a merry measure is the dance she’ll tread - (To the clanking of the staysail’s hanks) - When the guns are growling and the blood runs red, - And the prisoners are walking of the planks. - - - - -D’AVALOS’ PRAYER - - - When the last sea is sailed and the last shallow charted, - When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored, - When the last fire is out and the last guest departed, - Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, Be good to me, O Lord! - - And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm and thunder, - In the loud crying of the wind through sail and rope and spar; - Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and roll me under - To the cold tunny-fishes’ home where the drowned galleons are. - - And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight and hearing, - Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh of the sea-foam - About the fine keen bows of the stately clippers steering - Towards the lone northern star and the fair ports of home. - - - - -THE WEST WIND - - - It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries; - I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. - For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, - And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils. - - It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine, - Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine. - There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest, - And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest. - - ‘Will ye not come home, brother? ye have been long away, - It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may; - And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain,-- - Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again? - - ‘The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run, - It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun. - It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain, - To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again. - - ‘Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat, - So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet? - I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,’ - Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries. - - It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread - To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head, - To the violets and the warm hearts and the thrushes’ song, - In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong. - - - - -THE GALLEY-ROWERS - - - Staggering over the running combers - The long-ship heaves her dripping flanks, - Singing together, the sea-roamers - Drive the oars grunting in the banks. - A long pull, - And a long long pull to Mydath. - - ‘Where are ye bound, ye swart sea-farers, - Vexing the grey wind-angered brine, - Bearers of home-spun cloth, and bearers - Of goat-skins filled with country wine?’ - - ‘We are bound sunset-wards, not knowing, - Over the whale’s way miles and miles, - Going to Vine-Land, haply going - To the Bright Beach of the Blessed Isles. - - ‘In the wind’s teeth and the spray’s stinging - Westward and outward forth we go, - Knowing not whither nor why, but singing - An old old oar-song as we row. - A long pull, - And a long long pull to Mydath.’ - - - - -SORROW OF MYDATH - - - Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea, - Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me. - Would I were out of it, done with it, would I could be - A white gull crying along the desolate sands! - - Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst, - Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing athirst, - For the cool green waves of death to arise and burst - In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands. - - Would that the waves and the long white hair of the spray - Would gather in splendid terror and blot me away - To the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters sway - Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands! - - - - -VAGABOND - - - Dunno a heap about the what an’ why, - Can’t say’s I ever knowed. - Heaven to me’s a fair blue stretch of sky, - Earth’s jest a dusty road. - - Dunno the names o’ things, nor what they are, - Can’t say’s I ever will. - Dunno about God--he’s jest the noddin’ star - Atop the windy hill. - - Dunno about Life--it’s jest a tramp alone - From wakin’-time to doss. - Dunno about Death--it’s jest a quiet stone - All over-grey wi’ moss. - - An’ why I live, an’ why the old world spins, - Are things I never knowed; - My mark’s the gypsy fires, the lonely inns, - An’ jest the dusty road. - - - - -VISION - - - I have drunken the red wine and flung the dice; - Yet once in the noisy ale-house I have seen and heard - The dear pale lady with the mournful eyes, - And a voice like that of a pure grey cooing bird. - - With delicate white hands--white hands that I have kist - (Oh frail white hands!)--she soothed my aching eyes; - And her hair fell about her in a dim clinging mist, - Like smoke from a golden incense burned in Paradise. - - With gentle loving words, like shredded balm and myrrh, - She healed with sweet forgiveness my black bitter sins, - Then passed into the night, and I go seeking her - Down the dark, silent streets, past the warm, lighted inns. - - - - -SPUNYARN - - - Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank, - And one to slather the spunyarn, and one to knot the hank; - It’s an easy job for a summer watch, and a pleasant job enough, - To twist the tarry lengths of yarn to shapely sailor stuff. - - Life is nothing but spunyarn on a winch in need of oil, - Little enough is twined and spun but fever-fret and moil. - I have travelled on land and sea, and all that I have found - Are these poor songs to brace the arms that help the winches round. - - - - -THE DEAD KNIGHT - - - The cleanly rush of the mountain air, - And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees, - Are the only things that wander there, - The pitiful bones are laid at ease, - The grass has grown in his tangled hair, - And a rambling bramble binds his knees. - - To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell, - The only requiem-bells that rang - Were the hare-bell and the heather-bell. - Hushed he is with the holy spell - In the gentle hymn the wind sang, - And he lies quiet, and sleeps well. - - He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun; - The misty rain and the cold dew - Have altered him from the kingly one - (That his lady loved, and his men knew) - And dwindled him to a skeleton. - - The vetches have twined about his bones, - The straggling ivy twists and creeps - In his eye-sockets; the nettle keeps - Vigil about him while he sleeps. - Over his body the wind moans - With a dreary tune throughout the day, - In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin - As the gull’s cry--as the cry in the bay, - The mournful word the seas say - When tides are wandering out or in. - - - - -PERSONAL - - - Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed the lighted inn, - And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played within. - It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song the wind sings; - It brought the tears and the choked throat, and a catch to the - heart-strings. - - And it brought a bitter thought of the days that now were dead to me, - The merry days in the old home before I went to sea-- - Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my head to the rain, - And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads again. - - - - -ON MALVERN HILL - - - A wind is brushing down the clover, - It sweeps the tossing branches bare, - Blowing the poising kestrel over - The crumbling ramparts of the Caer. - - It whirls the scattered leaves before us - Along the dusty road to home, - Once it awakened into chorus - The heart-strings in the ranks of Rome. - - There by the gusty coppice border - The shrilling trumpets broke the halt, - The Roman line, the Roman order, - Swayed forwards to the blind assault. - - Spearman and charioteer and bowman - Charged and were scattered into spray, - Savage and taciturn the Roman - Hewed upwards in the Roman way. - - There--in the twilight--where the cattle - Are lowing home across the fields, - The beaten warriors left the battle - Dead on the clansmen’s wicker shields. - - The leaves whirl in the wind’s riot - Beneath the Beacon’s jutting spur, - Quiet are clan and chief, and quiet - Centurion and signifer. - - - - -TEWKESBURY ROAD - - - It is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where, - Going through meadow and village, one knows not whither nor why; - Through the grey light drift of the dust, in the keen cool - rush of the air, - Under the flying white clouds, and the broad blue lift of the sky; - - And to halt at the chattering brook, in the tall green fern at the brink - Where the harebell grows, and the gorse, and the fox-gloves - purple and white; - Where the shy-eyed delicate deer troop down to the pools to drink, - When the stars are mellow and large at the coming on of the night. - - O! to feel the warmth of the rain, and the homely smell of the earth, - Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past power of words; - And the blessed green comely meadows seem all a-ripple with mirth - At the lilt of the shifting feet, and the dear wild cry of the birds. - - - - -ON EASTNOR KNOLL - - - Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are - Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through - The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy - Calling the cows home. - - A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but - Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset - Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on - The misty hill-tops. - - Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning - Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are - A silent army of phantoms thronging - A land of shadows. - - - - -‘REST HER SOUL, SHE’S DEAD’ - - - She has done with the sea’s sorrow and the world’s way - And the wind’s grief; - Strew her with laurel, cover her with bay - And ivy-leaf. - Let the slow mournful music sound before her, - Strew the white flowers about the bier, and o’er her - The sleepy poppies red beyond belief. - - On the black velvet covering her eyes - Let the dull earth be thrown; - Hers is the mightier silence of the skies, - And long, quiet rest alone. - Over the pure, dark, wistful eyes of her, - O’er all the human, all that dies of her, - Gently let flowers be strown. - - Lay her away in quiet old peaceful earth - (This blossom of ours), - She has done with the world’s anger and the world’s mirth, - Sunshine and rain-showers; - And over the poor, sad, tired face of her, - In the long grass above the place of her - (The grass which hides the glory and the grace of her), - May the Spring bring the flowers. - - - - -‘ALL YE THAT PASS BY’ - - - On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, - The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet, - With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea, - And--the great movement changes--the pageant passes me. - - Faces--passionate faces--of men I may not know, - They haunt me, burn me to the heart, as I turn aside to go: - The king’s face and the cur’s face, and the face of the stuffed swine, - They are passing, they are passing, their eyes look into mine. - - I never can tire of the music of the noise of many feet, - The thrill of the blood pulsing, the tick of the heart’s beat, - Of the men many as sands, of the squadrons ranked and massed - Who are passing, changing always, and never have changed or passed. - - - - -IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. - - - Once in the windy wintry weather, - The road dust blowing in our eyes, - We starved or tramped or slept together - Beneath the haystacks and the skies; - - Until the tiring tramp was over, - And then the call for him was blown, - He left his friend--his fellow-rover-- - To tramp the dusty roads alone. - - The winds wail and the woods are yellow, - The hills are blotted in the rain, - ‘And would he were with me,’ sighs his fellow, - ‘With me upon the roads again!’ - - - - -TO-MORROW - - - Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and deep, - The upland outlaws ringed us in and herded us as sheep, - They drove us from the stricken field and bayed us into keep; - But to-morrow - By the living God, we’ll try the game again! - - Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through and through, - Our swaying, tattered pennons fled, a broken, beaten few, - And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and slew; - But to-morrow, - By the living God, we’ll try the game again! - - And here upon the turret-top the bale-fire glowers red, - The wake-lights burn and drip about our hacked, disfigured dead, - And many a broken heart is here and many a broken head; - But to-morrow, - By the living God, we’ll try the game again! - - - - -CAVALIER - - - All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into rhyme, - Dust is swimming dizzily down the village street, - The scabbards are clattering, the feathers nodding time, - To a clink of many horses’ shoes, a tramp of many feet. - - Seven score of Cavaliers fighting for the King, - Trolling lusty stirrup-songs, clamouring for wine, - Riding with a loose rein, marching with a swing, - Beneath the blue bannerol of Rupert of the Rhine. - - Hey the merry company;--the loud fifes playing-- - Blue scarves and bright steel and blossom of the may, - Roses in the feathered hats, the long plumes swaying, - A king’s son ahead of them showing them the way. - - - - -A SONG AT PARTING - - - The tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will soon be still, - And ripe and ready am I for rest in the grave atop the hill; - So gather me up and lay me down, for ready and ripe am I, - For the weary vigil with sightless eyes that may not see the sky. - - I have lived my life: I have spilt the wine that God the Maker gave, - So carry me up the lonely hill and lay me in the grave, - And cover me in with cleanly mould and old and lichened stones, - In a place where ever the cry of the wind shall thrill my sleepy bones. - - Gather me up and lay me down with an old song and a prayer, - Cover me in with wholesome earth, and weep and leave me there; - And get you gone with a kindly thought and an old tune and a sigh, - And leave me alone, asleep, at rest, for ready and ripe am I. - - - - -GLOSSARY - - - _Abaft the beam._--That half of a ship included between her - amidship section and the taffrail. (For ‘taffrail,’ _see_ below.) - - _Abel Brown._--An unquotable sea-song. - - _Advance-note._--A note for one month’s wages issued to sailors on - their signing a ship’s articles. - - - _Belaying-pins._--Bars of iron or hard wood to which running - rigging may be secured or _belayed_. Belaying-pins, from their - handiness and peculiar club-shape, are sometimes used as bludgeons. - - _Bloody._--An intensive derived from the substantive ‘blood,’ a - name applied to the Bucks, Scowrers, and Mohocks of the seventeenth - and eighteenth centuries. - - _Blue Peter._--A blue and white flag hoisted at the fore-trucks of - ships about to sail. - - _Bollard._--From _bōl_ or _bole_, the round trunk of a tree. A - phallic or ‘sparklet’-shaped ornament of the dockside, of - assistance to mariners in warping into or out of dock. - - _Bonded Jacky._--Negro-head tobacco or sweet cake. - - _Bull of Barney._--A beast mentioned in an unquotable sea-proverb. - - _Bumpkin._--An iron bar (projecting out-board from the ship’s side) - to which the lower and topsail brace blocks are sometimes hooked. - - _Cape Horn fever._--The illness proper to malingerers. - - _Catted._--Said of an anchor when weighed and secured to the - ‘cat-head.’ - - _Chanty._--A song sung to lighten labour at the capstan sheets, and - halliards. The soloist is known as the chanty-man, and is usually a - person of some authority in the fo’c’s’le. Many chanties are of - great beauty and extreme antiquity. - - _Clipper-bow._--A bow of delicate curves and lines. - - _Clout._--A rag or cloth. Also a blow:--‘I fetched him a clout i’ - the lug.’ - - _Crimp._--A sort of scoundrelly land-shark preying upon sailors. - - - _D.B.S._--Distressed British Sailor. A term applied to those who - are invalided home from foreign ports. - - _Dungaree._--A cheap, rough thin cloth (generally blue or brown), - woven, I am told, of coco-nut fibre. - - - _Forward or Forrard._--Towards the bows. - - _Fo’c’s’le (Forecastle)._--The deck-house or living-room of the - crew. The word is often used to indicate the crew, or those members - of it described by passengers as the ‘common sailors.’ - - _Fore-stay._--A powerful wire rope supporting the fore-mast - forward. - - - _Gaskets._--Ropes or plaited lines used to secure the sails in - furling. - - _Goneys._--Albatrosses. - - _Guffy._--A marine or jolly. - - _Gullies._--Sea-gulls, Cape Horn pigeons, etc. - - _Heave and pawl._--A cry of encouragement at the capstan. - - _Hooker._--A periphrasis for ship, I suppose from a ship’s carrying - _hooks_ or anchors. - - - _Jack or Jackstay._--A slender iron rail running along the upper - portions of the yards in some ships. - - - _Leeward._--Pronounced ‘looard.’ That quarter to which the wind - blows. - - - _Mainsail haul._--An order in tacking ship bidding ‘swing the - mainyards.’ To loot, steal, or ‘acquire.’ - - _Main-shrouds._--Ropes, usually wire, supporting lateral strains - upon the mainmast. - - _Mollies._--Molly-hawks, or Fulmar petrels. Wide-winged dusky - sea-fowls, common in high latitudes, oily to taste, gluttonous. - Great fishers and garbage-eaters. - - - _Port Mahon Baboon_, or _Port Mahon Soger_.--I have been unable to - discover either the origin of these insulting epithets or the - reasons for the peculiar bitterness with which they sting the - marine recipient. They are older than Dana (_circa_ 1840). - - An old merchant sailor, now dead, once told me that Port Mahon was - that godless city from which the Ark set sail, in which case the - name may have some traditional connection with that evil ‘Mahoun’ - or ‘Mahu,’ prince of darkness, mentioned by Shakespeare and some of - our older poets. - - The real Port Mahon, a fine harbour in Minorca, was taken by the - French, from Admiral Byng, in the year 1756. - - I think that the phrases originated at the time of Byng’s - consequent trial and execution. - - _Purchase._--_See_ ‘Tackle.’ - - - _Quidding._--Tobacco-chewing. - - - _Sails._--The sail-maker. - - _Santa Cruz._--A brand of rum. - - _Scantling._--Planks. - - _Soger._--A laggard, malingerer, or hang-back. To loaf or skulk or - work Tom Cox’s Traverse. - - _Spunyarn._--A three-strand line spun out of old rope-yarns knotted - together. Most sailing-ships carry a spunyarn winch, and the - spinning of such yarn is a favourite occupation in fine weather. - - _Stirrup._--A short rope supporting the foot-rope on which the - sailors stand when aloft on the yards. - - - _Tack._--To stay or ’bout ship. A reach to windward. The weather - lower corner of a course. - - _Tackle._--Pronounced _taykle_. A combination of pulleys for - obtaining of artificial power. - - _Taffrail._--The rail or bulwark round the sternmost end of a - ship’s poop or after-deck. - - _Trick._--The ordinary two-hour spell at the wheel or on the - look-out. - - - _Windward_ or _Weather_.--That quarter from which the wind blows. - -The following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author, -and other poetry - - * * * * * - -NEW BOOKS BY JOHN MASEFIELD - -The Daffodil Fields - -Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.36 - -“Neither in the design nor in the telling did or could ‘Enoch Arden’ -come near the artistic truth of ‘The Daffodil Fields’.”--_Sir -Quiller-Couch, Cambridge University._ - - -A Mainsail Haul - -Cloth, 12mo. Preparing - -As a sailor before the mast Masefield has traveled the world over. Many -of the tales in this volume are his own experiences written with the -same dramatic fidelity displayed in “Dauber.” - - -The Tragedy of Pompey - -Cloth, 12mo. Preparing - -A play such as only the author of “Nan” could have written. Tense in -situation and impressive in its poetry it conveys Masefield’s genius in -the handling of the dramatic form. - -PUBLISHED BY - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - * * * * * - -JOHN MASEFIELD’S - -The Everlasting Mercy, and The -Widow in the Bye Street - -Cloth, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.38 - -NEW AND REVISED EDITION - -“_The Everlasting Mercy” was awarded the Edward de Polignac prize of -$500 by the Royal Society of Literature for the best imaginative work of -the year._” - -“John Masefield is the man of the hour, and the man of to-morrow too, in -poetry and in the playwriting craft.”--JOHN GALSWORTHY. - -“--recreates a wholly new drama of existence.”--WILLIAM STANLEY -BRAITHWAITE, _N. Y. Times_. - -“Mr. Masefield comes like a flash of light across contemporary English -poetry, and he trails glory where his imaginations reveals the -substances of life. The improbable has been accomplished by Mr. -Masefield; he has made poetry out of the very material that has refused -to yield it for almost a score of years. It has only yielded it with a -passion of Keats, and shaped it with the imagination of -Coleridge.”--_Boston Evening Transcript._ - -“Originality, force, distinction, and deep knowledge of the human -heart.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ - -“They are truly great pieces.”--_Kentucky Post._ - -“A vigor and sincerity rare in modern English literature.”--_The -Independent._ - -“If Mr. Masefield has occasionally appeared to touch a reminiscent chord -with George Meredith, it is merely an example of his good taste and the -sameness of big themes.”--GEORGE MIDDLETON in _La Follette’s Magazine_. - -PUBLISHED BY - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - * * * * * - -JOHN MASEFIELD’S - -The Story of a Round-House -and other Poems - -Cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postpaid, $1.43 - -NEW AND REVISED EDITION - -“John Masefield has produced the finest literature of the year.”--J. W. -BARRIE. - -“John Masefield is the most interesting poetic personality of the -day.”--_The Continent._ - -“Ah! the story of that rounding the Horn! Never in prose has the sea -been so tremendously described.”--_Chicago Evening Post._ - -“Masefield’s new book attracts the widest attention from those who in -any degree are interested in the quality of present-day -literature.”--_Boston Transcript._ - -“A remarkable poem of the sea.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._ - -“Vivid and thrillingly realistic.”--_Current Literature._ - -“A genuine sailor and a genuine poet are a rare combination; they have -produced a rare poem of the sea, which has made Mr. Masefield’s position -in literature secure beyond the reach of caviling.”--_Everybody’s -Magazine._ - -“Masefield has prisoned in verse the spirit of life at sea.”--_N. Y. -Sun_. - -“There is strength about everything Masefield writes that compels the -feeling that he has an inward eye on which he draws to shape new films -of old pictures. In these pictures is freshness combined with power, -which form the keynotes of his poetry.”--_N. Y. Globe._ - -PUBLISHED BY - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - * * * * * - -The Poems of Wilfrid Wilson Gibson - -DAILY BREAD New edition. Three volumes in one. -$1.25 net - -Contains “The Shirt,” a new poem of impressive poignancy and power. - - -“A Millet in word-painting, who writes with a terrible simplicity, is -Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, born in Hexham, England, in 1878, of whom Canon -Cheyne wrote: ‘A new poet of the people has risen up among us.’ The -story of a soul is written as plainly in ‘Daily Bread’ as in ‘The Divine -Comedy’ and in ‘Paradise Lost.’”--_The Outlook._ - - -FIRES $1.25 net - -“In ‘Fires’ as in ‘Daily Bread,’ the fundamental note is human sympathy -with the whole of life. Impressive as these dramas are, it is in their -cumulative effect that they are chiefly powerful.”--_Atlantic Monthly._ - -WOMENKIND $1.25 net - -“Mr. Gibson is a genuine singer of his own day and turns into appealing -harmony the world’s harshly jarring notes of poverty and pain.”--_The -Outlook._ - -PUBLISHED BY - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - * * * * * - -Three Important New Volumes of Poetry - -By JOHN HELSTON - - -LONICERA AND OTHER POEMS Preparing - -This book introduces another poet of promise to the verse-lovers of this -country. It is of interest to learn that Mr. Helston, who for several -years was an operative mechanic in electrical works, has created a -remarkable impression in England where much is expected of him. This -volume, characterized by verse of rare beauty, presents his most -representative work, ranging from the long descriptive title-poem to -shorter lyrics. - - -By HERMANN HAGEDORN - -POEMS AND BALLADS Preparing - -“His is perhaps the most confident of the prophecies of our new poets -for he has seen most clearly the poetry in the new life. His song is -full of the spirit of youth and hope.... It is the song that the new -century needs. His verse is strong and flexible and has an ease, a -naturalness, a rhythm that is rare in young poets. In many of his -shorter lyrics he recalls Heine.”--_Boston Transcript._ - - -By FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS - -MYSELF AND I $1.00 net - -“For some years the poems of Miss Davis have attracted wide attention in -the best periodicals. That note of wistful mysticism which shimmers in -almost every line gives her art a distinction that is bound to make its -appeal. In this first book--where every verse is significant--Miss Davis -has achieved very beautiful and serious poetry.”--_Boston Transcript._ - -PUBLISHED BY - -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Salt-Water Ballads, by John Masefield - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALT-WATER BALLADS *** - -***** This file should be named 52761-0.txt or 52761-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/6/52761/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif , MWS, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Salt-Water Ballads - -Author: John Masefield - -Release Date: August 9, 2016 [EBook #52761] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALT-WATER BALLADS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif , MWS, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="343" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p class="cb">SALT-WATER BALLADS<br /><br /><br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="125" -height="42" -alt="[colophon not visible]" - /><br /> -<small> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> - -<small>NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO<br /> - -DALLAS · ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO</small><br /> - -MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> - -<small>LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA<br /> - -MELBOURNE</small><br /> - -THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> - -<small>TORONTO</small></small></p> - -<h1> -SALT-WATER<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">BALLADS</span></h1> - -<p class="cb"> -BY<br /> - -JOHN MASEFIELD<br /> -<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">New York</span><br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -1915</p> - -<p class="nind"><small>Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1913<br /> -Reprinted April, 1915.</small><br /> -</p> - -<div class="dedd"> -<p class="nind">Some of this book was written in my boyhood, all of it in my youth; it -is now re-issued, much as it was when first published nearly eleven -years ago. <span style="margin-left: 4em;">J. M.</span><br /><br /> -<i>9th June 1913</i></p> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_CONSECRATION">A CONSECRATION</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><i>Not of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers.</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_YARN_OF_THE_LOCH_ACHRAY">THE YARN OF THE ‘LOCH ACHRAY’</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">The ‘Loch Achray’ was a clipper tall.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#SING_A_SONG_O_SHIPWRECK">SING A SONG O’ SHIPWRECK</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#BURIAL_PARTY">BURIAL PARTY</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘He’s deader ’n nails,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘ ’n’ gone to his long sleep’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#BILL">BILL</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at the cold skies</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_14">14</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#FEVER_SHIP">FEVER SHIP</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">There’ll be no weepin gells ashore when <i>our</i> ship sails</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#FEVER-CHILLS">FEVER-CHILLS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the colour of paste</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_17">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#ONE_OF_THE_BOSUNS_YARNS">ONE OF THE BO’SUN’S YARNS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Loafin’ around in Sailor Town, a-bluin’ o’ my advance</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_19">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#HELLS_PAVEMENT">HELLS PAVEMENT</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘When I’m discharged in Liverpool ’n’ draws my bit o’ pay’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#SEA-CHANGE">SEA-CHANGE</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘Goneys an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#HARBOUR-BAR">HARBOUR-BAR</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_TURN_OF_THE_TIDE">THE TURN OF THE TIDE</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">An’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#ONE_OF_WALLYS_YARNS">ONE OF WALLY’S YARNS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making fast the sail</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_VALEDICTION_LIVERPOOL_DOCKS">A VALEDITION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Is there anything as I can do ashore for you</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_NIGHT_AT_DAGO_TOMS">A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM’S</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Oh yesterday, I t’ink it was, while cruisin’ down the street</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_38">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#PORT_OF_MANY_SHIPS">‘PORT OF MANY SHIPS’</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘It’s a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_40">40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_I">CAPE HORN GOSPEL—I</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘I was in a hooker once,’ said Karlssen</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_42">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_II">CAPE HORN GOSPEL—II</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an’ he gave the skipper chin</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#MOTHER_CAREY">MOTHER CAREY</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Mother Carey? She’s the mother o’ the witches</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#EVENING_REGATTA_DAY">EVENING—REGATTA DAY</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth’s a toothless wreck -</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_VALEDICTION">A VALEDITION</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">We’re bound for blue water where the great winds blow</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_52">52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_PIER-HEAD_CHORUS">A PIER-HEAD CHORUS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Oh, I’ll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_54">54</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_GOLDEN_CITY_OF_ST_MARY">THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_56">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#TRADE_WINDS">TRADE WINDS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_58">58</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#SEA-FEVER">SEA-FEVER</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_WANDERERS_SONG">A WANDERER’S SONG</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">A wind’s in the heart o’ me, a fire’s in my heels</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#CARDIGAN_BAY">CARDIGAN BAY</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Clean, green, windy billows notching out the sky</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">A wind is rustling ‘south and soft’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_64">64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#CHRISTMAS_EVE_AT_SEA">CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_BALLAD_OF_CAPE_ST_VINCENT">A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">‘Now, Bill, ain’t it prime to be a-sailin’</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66">66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_TARRY_BUCCANEER">THE TARRY BUCCANEER</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">I’m going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot-gun</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_68">68</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_BALLAD_OF_JOHN_SILVER">A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_71">71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#LYRICS_FROM_THE_BUCCANEER">LYRICS FROM ‘THE BUCCANEER’</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"> I.—We are far from sight of the harbour lights</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_74">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"> II.—There’s a sea-way somewhere where all day long</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_75">75</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">III.—The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#DAVALOS_PRAYER">D’AVALOS’ PRAYER</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">When the last sea is sailed and the last shallow charted</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_77">77</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_WEST_WIND">THE WEST WIND</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">It’s a warm wind, -the west wind, full of birds’ cries</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_GALLEY-ROWERS">THE GALLEY-ROWERS</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Staggering over the running combers</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_82">82</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#SORROW_OF_MYDATH">SORROW OF MYDATH</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#VAGABOND">VAGABOND</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Dunno a heap about the what an’ why</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#VISION">VISION</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">I have drunken the red wine and flung the dice</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_86">86</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#SPUNYARN">SPUNYARN</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_88">88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#THE_DEAD_KNIGHT">THE DEAD KNIGHT</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">The cleanly rush of the mountain air</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_89">89</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#PERSONAL">PERSONAL</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed the lighted inn</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_91">91</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#ON_MALVERN_HILL">ON MALVERN HILL</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">A wind is brushing down the clover</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_92">92</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#TEWKESBURY_ROAD">TEWKESBURY ROAD</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">It is good to be out on the road, and going -one knows not where</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_94">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#ON_EASTNOR_KNOLL">ON EATNOR KNOLL</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_96">96</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#REST_HER_SOUL_SHES_DEAD">‘REST HER SOUL, SHE’S DEAD!’</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">She has done with the sea’s sorrow and the world’s way</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#ALL_YE_THAT_PASS_BY">‘ALL YE THAT PASS BY’</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_99">99</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#IN_MEMORY_OF_A_P_R">IN MEMORY OF A. P. R.</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Once in the windy wintry weather</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#TO-MORROW">TO-MORROW</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and deep</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#CAVALIER">CAVALIER</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into rhyme</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#A_SONG_AT_PARTING">A SONG AT PARTING</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd">The tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will soon be still</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_106">106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="hed"><a href="#GLOSSARY">GLOSSARY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="dedd"> -<p>‘The mariners are a pleasant people, but little like those in the towns, -and they can speak no other language than that used in ships.’</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>The Licenciate Vidriera.</i><br /> -</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_CONSECRATION" id="A_CONSECRATION"></a>A CONSECRATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the years,—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Rather the scorned—the rejected—the men hemmed in with the spears;</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The men with the broken heads and the blood running into their eyes.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be known.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of the road,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on with the goad,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a load.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the clout,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune to the shout,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired look-out.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the mirth,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth;—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of the earth!</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Theirs</span> <i>be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain and the cold—</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15"><span class="smcap">Amen.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_YARN_OF_THE_LOCH_ACHRAY" id="THE_YARN_OF_THE_LOCH_ACHRAY"></a>THE YARN OF THE ‘LOCH ACHRAY’</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> ‘Loch Achray’ was a clipper tall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With seven-and-twenty hands in all.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twenty to hand and reef and haul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A skipper to sail and mates to bawl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Tally on to the tackle-fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heave now ’n’ start her, heave ’n’ pawl!’<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her crew were shipped and they said ‘Farewell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So-long, my Tottie, my lovely gell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We sail to-day if we fetch to hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s time we tackled the wheel a spell.’<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dockside loafers talked on the quay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The day that she towed down to sea:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Lord, what a handsome ship she be!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cheer her, sonny boys, three times three!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dockside loafers gave her a shout<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the red-funnelled tug-boat towed her out;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They gave her a cheer as the custom is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the crew yelled ‘Take our loves to Liz—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three cheers, bullies, for old Pier Head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the bloody stay-at-homes!’ they said.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the grey of the coming on of night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She dropped the tug at the Tuskar Light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the topsails went to the topmast head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To a chorus that fairly awoke the dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She trimmed her yards and slanted South<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With her royals set and a bone in her mouth.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She crossed the Line and all went well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They ate, they slept, and they struck the bell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I give you a gospel truth when I state<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crowd didn’t find any fault with the Mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But one night off the River Plate.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It freshened up till it blew like thunder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And burrowed her deep, lee-scuppers under.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old man said, ‘I mean to hang on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till her canvas busts or her sticks are gone’—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which the blushing looney did, till at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Overboard went her mizzen-mast.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then a fierce squall struck the ‘Loch Achray’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bowed her down to her water-way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her main-shrouds gave and her forestay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a green sea carried her wheel away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere the watch below had time to dress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She was cluttered up in a blushing mess.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She couldn’t lay-to nor yet pay-off,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she got swept clean in the bloody trough;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her masts were gone, and afore you knowed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She filled by the head and down she goed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her crew made seven-and-twenty dishes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the big jack-sharks and the little fishes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over their bones the water swishes.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wives and girls they watch in the rain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For a ship as won’t come home again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I reckon it’s them head-winds,’ they say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘She’ll be home to-morrow, if not to-day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll just nip home ’n’ I’ll air the sheets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ buy the fixins ’n’ cook the meats<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As my man likes ’n’ as my man eats.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So home they goes by the windy streets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thinking their men are homeward bound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With anchors hungry for English ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bloody fun of it is, they’re drowned!<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hear the yarn of a sailor,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An old yarn learned at sea.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SING_A_SONG_O_SHIPWRECK" id="SING_A_SONG_O_SHIPWRECK"></a>SING A SONG O’ SHIPWRECK</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ear-rings of brass and a jumper of dungaree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ many a queer lash-up have I seen,’ says he.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘But the toughest hooray o’ the racket,’ he says, ‘I’ll be sworn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the roughest traverse I worked since the day I was born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was a packet o’ Sailor’s Delight as I scoffed in the seas o’ the Horn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘All day long in the calm she had rolled to the swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rolling through fifty degrees till she clattered her bell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ then came snow, ’n’ a squall, ’n’ a wind was colder ’n hell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘It blew like the Bull of Barney, a beast of a breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ over the rail come the cold green lollopin’ seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ she went ashore at the dawn on the Ramirez.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘She was settlin’ down by the stern when I got to the deck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her waist was a smother o’ sea as was up to your neck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ her masts were gone, ’n’ her rails, ’n’ she was a wreck.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘We rigged up a tackle, a purchase, a sort of a shift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hoist the boats off o’ the deck-house and get them adrift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When her stern gives a sickenin’ settle, her bows give a lift,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ comes a crash of green water as sets me afloat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With freezing fingers clutching the keel of a boat—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bottom-up whaler—’n’ that was the juice of a note.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Well, I clambers acrost o’ the keel ’n’ I gets me secured,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I sees a face in the white o’ the smother to looard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I gives ’im a ’and, ’n’ be shot if it wasn’t the stooard!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘So he climbs up forrard o’ me, ’n’ “thanky,” a’ says,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ we sits ’n’ shivers ’n’ freeze to the bone wi’ the sprays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ <i>I</i> sings “Abel Brown,” ’n’ the stooard he prays.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Wi’ never a dollop to sup nor a morsel to bite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lips of us blue with the cold ’n’ the heads of us light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adrift in a Cape Horn sea for a day ’n’ a night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ then the stooard goes dotty ’n’ puts a tune to his lip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ moans about Love like a dern old hen wi’ the pip—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(I sets no store upon stooards—they ain’t no use on a ship).<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ “mother,” the looney cackles, “come ’n’ put Willy to bed!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I says “Dry up, or I’ll fetch you a crack o’ the head”;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The kettle’s a-bilin’,” he answers, “ ’n’ I’ll go butter the bread.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ he falls to singin’ some slush about clinkin’ a can,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ at last he dies, so he does, ’n’ I tells you, Jan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was glad when he did, for he weren’t no fun for a man.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘So he falls forrard, he does, ’n’ he closes his eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ quiet he lays ’n’ quiet I leaves him lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ I was alone with his corp, ’n’ the cold green sea and the sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ then I dithers, I guess, for the next as I knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was the voice of a mate as was sayin’ to one of the crew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Easy, my son, wi’ the brandy, be shot if he ain’t comin’-to!” ’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="BURIAL_PARTY" id="BURIAL_PARTY"></a>BURIAL PARTY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">He’s</span> deader ’n nails,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘ ’n’ gone to his long sleep’;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ about his corp,’ said Tom to Dan, ‘d’ye think his corp’ll keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the day’s done, ’n’ the work’s through, ’n’ the ebb’s upon the neap?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘He’s deader ’n nails,’ said Dan to Tom, ‘ ’n’ I wish his sperrit j’y;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He spat straight ’n’ he steered true, but listen to me, say I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take ’n’ cover ’n’ bury him now, ’n’ I’ll take ’n’ tell you why.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘It’s a rummy rig of a guffy’s yarn, ’n’ the juice of a rummy note,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if you buries a corp at night, it takes ’n’ keeps afloat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For its bloody soul’s afraid o’ the dark ’n’ sticks within the throat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ all the night till the grey o’ the dawn the dead ’un has to swim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a blue ’n’ beastly Will o’ the Wisp a-burnin’ over him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a herring, maybe, a-scoffin’ a toe or a shark a-chewin’ a limb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ all the night the shiverin’ corp it has to swim the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its shudderin’ soul inside the throat (where a soul’s no right to be),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the sky’s grey ’n’ the dawn’s clear, ’n’ then the sperrit’s free.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Now Joe was a man was right as rain. I’m sort of sore for Joe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ if we bury him durin’ the day, his soul can take ’n’ go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So we’ll dump his corp when the bell strikes ’n’ we can get below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘I’d fairly hate for him to swim in a blue ’n’ beastly light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his shudderin’ soul inside of him a-feelin’ the fishes bite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So over he goes at noon, say I, ’n’ he shall sleep to-night.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BILL" id="BILL"></a>BILL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at the cold skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With never a friend to mourn for him nor a hand to close his eyes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Bill, he’s dead,’ was all they said; ‘he’s dead, ’n’ there he lies.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mate came forrard at seven bells and spat across the rail:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Just lash him up wi’ some holystone in a clout o’ rotten sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’, rot ye, get a gait on ye, ye’re slower’n a bloody snail!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the rising moon was a copper disc and the sea was a strip of steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We dumped him down to the swaying weeds ten fathom beneath the keel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘It’s rough about Bill,’ the fo’c’s’le said, ‘we’ll have to stand his wheel.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FEVER_SHIP" id="FEVER_SHIP"></a>FEVER SHIP</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There’ll</span> be no weepin’ gells ashore when <i>our</i> ship sails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor no crews cheerin’ us, standin’ at the rails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ no Blue Peter a-foul the royal stay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we’ve the Yellow Fever—Harry died to-day.—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’N’ Dick has got the fever-shakes, ’n’ look what I was told<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(I went to get a sack for him to keep him from the cold):<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Sir, can I have a sack?’ I says, ‘for Dick ’e’s fit to die.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Oh, sack be shot!’ the skipper says, ‘jest let the rotter lie!’—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s a cruel port is Santos, and a hungry land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rows o’ graves already dug in yonder strip of sand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ Dick is hollerin’ up the hatch, ’e says ’e’s goin’ blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His pore teeth are chattering, ’n’ what’s a man to do?—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">It’s cruel when a fo’c’s’le gets the fever!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FEVER-CHILLS" id="FEVER-CHILLS"></a>FEVER-CHILLS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the colour of paste,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shivered a spell and mopped his brow with a clout of cotton waste:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I’ve a lick of fever-chills,’ he said, ‘ ’n’ my inside it’s green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’d be as right as rain,’ he said, ‘if I had some quinine,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But there ain’t no quinine for us poor sailor-men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘But them there passengers,’ he said, ‘if they gets fever-chills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s brimmin’ buckets o’ quinine for them, ’n’ bulgin’ crates o’ pills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a doctor with Latin ’n’ drugs ’n’ all—enough to sink a town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ they lies quiet in their blushin’ bunks ’n’ mops their gruel down,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">But their ain’t none o’ them fine ways for us poor sailor-men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘But the Chief comes forrard ’n’ he says, says he, “I gives you a straight tip:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come none o’ your Cape Horn fever lays aboard o’ this yer ship.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On wi’ your rags o’ duds, my son, ’n’ aft, ’n’ down the hole:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The best cure known for fever-chills is shovelling bloody coal.”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It’s <i>hard</i>, my son, that’s what it is, for us poor sailor-men.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ONE_OF_THE_BOSUNS_YARNS" id="ONE_OF_THE_BOSUNS_YARNS"></a>ONE OF THE BO’SUN’S YARNS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Loafin</span>’ around in Sailor Town, a-bluin’ o’ my advance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I met a derelict donkeyman who led me a merry dance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till he landed me ’n’ bleached me fair in the bar of a rum-saloon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ there he spun me a juice of a yarn to this-yer brand of tune.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘It’s a solemn gospel, mate,’ he says, ‘but a man as ships aboard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A steamer-tramp, he gets his whack of the wonders of the Lord—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such as roaches crawlin’ over his bunk, ’n’ snakes inside his bread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And work by night and work by day enough to strike him dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘But that there’s by the way,’ says he; ‘the yarn I’m goin’ to spin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is about myself ’n’ the life I led in the last ship I was in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The “Esmeralda,” casual tramp, from Hull towards the Hook,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wi’ one o’ the brand o’ Cain for mate ’n’ a human mistake for cook.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘We’d a week or so of dippin’ around in a wind from outer hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a fathom or more of broken sea at large in the forrard well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till our boats were bashed and bust and broke and gone to Davy Jones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ then come white Atlantic fog as chilled us to the bones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘We slowed her down and started the horn and watch and watch about,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We froze the marrow in all our bones a-keepin’ a good look-out,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the ninth night out, in the middle watch, I woke from a pleasant dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the smash of a steamer ramming our plates a point abaft the beam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’Twas cold and dark when I fetched the deck, dirty ’n’ cold ’n’ thick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ there was a feel in the way she rode as fairly turned me sick;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She was settlin’, listin’ quickly down, ’n’ I heard the mates a-cursin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ I heard the wash ’n’ the grumble-grunt of a steamer’s screws reversin’.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘She was leavin’ us, mate, to sink or swim, ’n’ the words we took ’n’ said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They turned the port-light grassy-green ’n’ the starboard rosy-red.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We give her a hot perpetual taste of the singeing curse of Cain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As we heard her back ’n’ clear the wreck ’n’ off to her course again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Then the mate came dancin’ on to the scene, ’n’ he says, “Now quit yer chin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or I’ll smash yer skulls, so help me James, ’n’ let some wisdom in.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye dodderin’ scum o’ the slums,” he says, “are ye drunk or blazin’ daft?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If ye wish to save yer sickly hides, ye’d best contrive a raft.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘So he spoke us fair and turned us to, ’n’ we wrought wi’ tooth and nail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wi’ scantling, casks, ’n’ coops ’n’ ropes, ’n’ boiler-plates ’n’ sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ all the while it were dark ’n’ cold ’n’ dirty as it could be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ she was soggy ’n’ settlin’ down to a berth beneath the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Soggy she grew, ’n’ she didn’t lift, ’n’ she listed more ’n’ more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till her bell struck ’n’ her boiler-pipes began to wheeze ’n’ snore;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">She settled, settled, listed, heeled, ’n’ then may I be cust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If her sneezin’, wheezin’ boiler-pipes did not begin to bust!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘ ’N’ then the stars began to shine, ’n’ the birds began to sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the next I knowed I was bandaged up ’n’ my arm were in a sling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a swab in uniform were there, ’n’ “Well,” says he, “ ’n’ how<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are yer arms, ’n’ legs, ’n’ liver, ’n’ lungs, ’n’ bones a-feelin’ now?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Where am I?” says I, ’n’ he says, says he, a-cantin’ to the roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“You’re aboard the R.M.S. ‘Marie’ in the after Glory-Hole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ you’ve had a shave, if you wish to know, from the port o’ Kingdom Come.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drink this,” he says, ’n’ I takes ’n’ drinks, ’n’ s’elp me, it was rum!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Seven survivors seen ’n’ saved of the “Esmeralda’s” crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Taken aboard the sweet “Marie” ’n’ bunked ’n’ treated proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ D.B.S.’d to Mersey Docks (’n’ a joyful trip we made),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ there the skipper were given a purse by a grateful Board of Trade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘That’s the end o’ the yarn,’ he says, ’n’ he takes ’n’ wipes his lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Them’s the works o’ the Lord you sees in steam ’n’ sailin’ ships,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rocks ’n’ fogs ’n’ shatterin’ seas ’n’ breakers right ahead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ work o’ nights ’n’ work o’ days enough to strike you dead.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HELLS_PAVEMENT" id="HELLS_PAVEMENT"></a>HELL’S PAVEMENT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">When</span> I’m discharged in Liverpool ’n’ draws my bit o’ pay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I won’t come to sea no more.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll court a pretty little lass ’n’ have a weddin’ day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ settle somewhere down ashore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll never fare to sea again a-temptin’ Davy Jones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin’ for my bones;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll run a blushin’ dairy-farm or go a-crackin’ stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or buy ’n’ keep a little liquor-store,’—<br /></span> -<span class="i15">So he said.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the hooker fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the copper-bound officials paid the crew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Billy drew his money, but the money didn’t last,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For he painted the alongshore blue,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for Jolly Jack.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his back,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sack<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To sleep on, when his watch was through,—<br /></span> -<span class="i15">So he did.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SEA-CHANGE" id="SEA-CHANGE"></a>SEA-CHANGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">Goneys</span> an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They ain’t no birds, not really,’ said Billy the Dane.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,’ said he,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘But simply the sperrits of mariners livin’ again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Them birds goin’ fishin’ is nothin’ but souls o’ the drowned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Souls o’ the drowned an’ the kicked as are never no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ that there haughty old albatross cruisin’ around,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Belike he’s Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An’ merry’s the life they are living. They settle and dip,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">They fishes, they never stands watches, they waggle their wings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To see how the nowaday mariners manages things.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Though maybe it ain’t like a Christian)—I wish I could be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fish<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And coming the proud over all o’ the birds o’ the sea.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HARBOUR-BAR" id="HARBOUR-BAR"></a>HARBOUR-BAR</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The white line of the running surf goes booming down the beach,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I shall never see them, though the land lies close aboard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve shaped the last long silent tack as takes one to the Lord.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Give me the Scripters, Jakey, ’n’ my pipe atween my lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’m bound for somewhere south and far beyond the track of ships;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve run my rags of colours up and clinched them to the stay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And God the pilot’s come aboard to bring me up the bay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You’ll mainsail-haul my bits o’ things when Christ has took my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ you’ll lay me quiet somewhere at the landward end the Mole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where I shall hear the steamers’ sterns a-squattering from the heave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the topsail blocks a-piping when a rope-yarn fouls the sheave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Give me a sup of lime-juice; Lord, I’m drifting in to port,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The landfall lies to windward and the wind comes light and short,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’m for signing off and out to take my watch below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And—prop a fellow, Jakey—Lord, it’s time for me to go!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_TURN_OF_THE_TIDE" id="THE_TURN_OF_THE_TIDE"></a>THE TURN OF THE TIDE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">An</span>’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You can divvy up the dungarees an’ bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ the ship can have my blessing, an’ the Lord can have my life,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ sails an’ fish my body when I’m dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An’ dreaming down below there in the tangled greens an’ blues,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the sunlight shudders golden round about,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall hear the ships complainin’ an’ the cursin’ of the crews,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ be sorry when the watch is tumbled out.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I shall hear them hilly-hollying the weather crojick brace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sucking of the wash about the hull;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When they chanty up the topsail I’ll be hauling in my place,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For my soul will follow seawards like a gull.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I shall hear the blocks a-grunting in the bumpkins over-side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ the slatting of the storm-sails on the stay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ the rippling of the catspaw at the making of the tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ the swirl and splash of porpoises at play.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An’ Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You can divvy up the whack I haven’t scofft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ the ship can have my blessing and the Lord can have my life,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For it’s time I quit the deck and went aloft.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ONE_OF_WALLYS_YARNS" id="ONE_OF_WALLYS_YARNS"></a>ONE OF WALLY’S YARNS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making fast the sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ Joe was swiggin’ his gasket taut, ’n’ I felt the stirrup <i>give</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ he dropped sheer from the tops’l-yard ’n’ barely cleared the rail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ o’ course, we bein’ aloft, <i>we</i> couldn’t do nothin’—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We couldn’t lower a boat and go a-lookin’ for him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it blew hard ’n’ there was sech a sea runnin’<br /></span> -<span class="i5">That no boat wouldn’t live.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seed him rise in the white o’ the wake, I seed him lift a hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(’N’ him in his oilskin suit ’n’ all), I heard him lift a cry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ there was his place on the yard ’n’ all, ’n’ the stirrup’s busted strand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the old man said there’s a cruel old sea runnin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A cold green Barney’s Bull of a sea runnin’;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s hard, but I ain’t agoin’ to let a boat be lowered:<br /></span> -<span class="i5">So we left him there to die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He couldn’t have kept afloat for long an’ him lashed up ’n’ all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ we couldn’t see him for long, for the sea was blurred with the sleet ’n’ snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ we couldn’t think of him much because o’ the snortin’, screamin’ squall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was a hand less at the halliards ’n’ the braces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a name less when the watch spoke to the muster-roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a empty bunk ’n’ a pannikin as wasn’t wanted<br /></span> -<span class="i5">When the watch went below.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_VALEDICTION_LIVERPOOL_DOCKS" id="A_VALEDICTION_LIVERPOOL_DOCKS"></a>A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS)</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5"><small>A CRIMP. <span style="margin-left: 2em;">A DRUNKEN SAILOR.</span></small><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Is there anything as I can do ashore for you</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>When you’ve dropped down the tide?</i>—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You can take ’n’ tell Nan I’m goin’ about the world agen<br /></span> -<span class="i3">’N’ that the world’s wide.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ tell her that there ain’t no postal service<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Not down on the blue sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ tell her that she’d best not keep her fires alight<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Nor set up late for me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ tell her I’ll have forgotten all about her<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Afore we cross the Line.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ tell her that the dollars of any other sailor-man<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Is as good red gold as mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Is there anything as I can do aboard for you</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Afore the tow-rope’s taut?</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m new to this packet and all the ways of her,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">’N’ I don’t know of aught;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I knows as I’m goin’ down to the seas agen<br /></span> -<span class="i3">’N’ the seas are salt ’n’ drear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I knows as all the doin’ as you’re man enough for<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Won’t make them lager-beer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>’N’ ain’t there</i> nothin’ <i>as I can do ashore for you</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>When you’ve got fair afloat?</i>—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You can buy a farm with the dollars as you’ve done me of<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ cash my advance-note.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Is there anythin’ you’d fancy for your breakfastin’</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>When you’re home across Mersey Bar?</i>—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I wants a red herrin’ n’ a prairie oyster<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a bucket of Three Star,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ a gell with redder lips than Polly has got,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ prettier ways than Nan——<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Well, so-long, Billy, ’n’ a spankin’ heavy pay-day to you!</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So-long, my fancy man!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_NIGHT_AT_DAGO_TOMS" id="A_NIGHT_AT_DAGO_TOMS"></a>A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM’S</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> yesterday, I t’ink it was, while cruisin’ down the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I met with Bill.—‘Hullo,’ he says, ‘let’s give the girls a treat.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’d red bandanas round our necks ’n’ our shrouds new rattled down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for Sailor Town.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We scooted south with a press of sail till we fetched to a caboose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ‘Sailor’s Rest,’ by Dago Tom, alongside ‘Paddy’s Goose.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red curtains to the windies, ay, ’n’ white sand to the floor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And an old blind fiddler liltin’ the tune of ‘Lowlands no more.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He played the ‘Shaking of the Sheets’ ’n’ the couples did advance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bowing, stamping, curtsying, in the shuffling of the dance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old floor rocked and quivered, so it struck beholders dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ arterwards there was sweet songs ’n’ good Jamaikey rum.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’N’ there was many a merry yarn of many a merry spree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aboard the ships with royals set a-sailing on the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yarns of the hooker ‘Spindrift,’ her as had the clipper-bow,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘There ain’t no ships,’ says Bill to me, ‘like that there hooker now.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the old blind fiddler played the tune of ‘Pipe the Watch Below,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The skew-eyed landlord dowsed the glim and bade us ‘stamp ’n’ go,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ we linked it home, did Bill ’n’ I, adown the scattered streets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until we fetched to Land o’ Nod atween the linen sheets.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PORT_OF_MANY_SHIPS" id="PORT_OF_MANY_SHIPS"></a>‘PORT OF MANY SHIPS’</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">It’s</span> a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where crews is always layin’ aft for double-tots o’ rum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ there’s dancin’ ’n’ fiddlin’ of ev’ry kind o’ sort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s a fine place for sailor-men is that there port.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">’N’ I wish—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I wish as I was there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The winds is never nothin’ more than jest light airs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ no-one gets belayin’-pinned, ’n’ no-one never swears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yer free to loaf an’ laze around, yer pipe atween yer lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lollin’ on the fo’c’s’le, sonny, lookin’ at the ships.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">’N’ I wish—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I wish as I was there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘For ridin’ in the anchorage the ships of all the world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have got one anchor down ’n’ all sails furled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the sunken hookers ’n’ the crews as took ’n’ died<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They lays there merry, sonny, swingin’ to the tide.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">’N’ I wish—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I wish as I was there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Drowned old wooden hookers green wi’ drippin’ wrack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ships as never fetched to port, as never came back,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swingin’ to the blushin’ tide, dippin’ to the swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ the crews all singin’, sonny, beatin’ on the bell.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">’N’ I wish—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I wish as I was there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_I" id="CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_I"></a>CAPE HORN GOSPEL—I</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">I was</span> in a hooker once,’ said Karlssen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And Bill, as was a seaman, died,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So we lashed him in an old tarpaulin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tumbled him across the side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the fun of it was that all his gear was<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Divided up among the crew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before that blushing human error,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our crawling little captain, knew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘On the passage home one morning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(As certain as I prays for grace)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was old Bill’s shadder a-hauling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the weather mizzen-topsail brace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was all grown green with sea-weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was all lashed up and shored;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I says to him, I says, “Why, Billy!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What’s a-bringin’ of you back aboard?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’ “I’m a-weary of them there mermaids,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Says old Bill’s ghost to me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“It ain’t no place for a Christian<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Below there—under sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it’s all blown sand and shipwrecks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And old bones eaten bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And them cold fishy females<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With long green weeds for hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’ “And there ain’t no dances shuffled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no old yarns is spun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there ain’t no stars but starfish,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never any moon or sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I heard your keel a-passing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the running rattle of the brace,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he says, “Stand by,” says William,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For a shift towards a better place.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Well, he sogered about decks till sunrise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When a rooster in the hen-coop crowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as so much smoke he faded<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as so much smoke he goed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’ve often wondered since, Jan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How his old ghost stands to fare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long o’ them cold fishy females<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With long green weeds for hair.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_II" id="CAPE_HORN_GOSPEL_II"></a>CAPE HORN GOSPEL—II</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Jake</span> was a dirty Dago lad, an’ he gave the skipper chin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ the skipper up an’ took him a crack with an iron belaying-pin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which stiffened him out a rusty corp, as pretty as you could wish,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ then we shovelled him up in a sack an’ dumped him to the fish.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">That was jest arter we’d got sail on her.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Josey slipped from the tops’l-yard an’ bust his bloody back<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Which corned from playing the giddy goat an’ leavin’ go the jack);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We lashed his chips in clouts of sail an’ ballasted him with stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The Lord hath taken away,’ we says, an’ we give him to Davy Jones.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An’ that was afore we were up with the Line.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Joe were chippin’ a rusty plate a-squattin’ upon the deck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ all the watch he had the sun a-singein’ him on the neck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ forrard he falls at last, he does, an’ he lets his mallet go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead as a nail with a calenture, an’ that was the end of Joe.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">An’ that was just afore we made the Plate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All o’ the rest were sailor-men, an’ it come to rain an’ squall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ then it was halliards, sheets, an ’tacks ‘clue up, an’ let go all.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We snugged her down an’ hove her to, an’ the old contrairy cuss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Started a plate, an’ settled an’ sank, an’ that was the end of us.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We slopped around on coops an’ planks in the cold an’ in the dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ Bill were drowned, an’ Tom were ate by a swine of a cruel shark,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ a mail-boat reskied Harry an’ I (which comed of pious prayers),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which brings me here a-kickin’ my heels in the port of Buenos Ayres.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m bound for home in the ‘Oronook,’ in a suit of looted duds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A D.B.S. a-earnin’ a stake by helpin’ peelin’ spuds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ if ever I fetch to Prince’s Stage an’ sets my feet ashore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You bet your hide that there I stay, an’ follers the sea no more.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MOTHER_CAREY" id="MOTHER_CAREY"></a>MOTHER CAREY<br /><br /> -<small>(AS TOLD ME BY THE BO’SUN)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mother Carey</span>? She’s the mother o’ the witches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ all <i>them</i> sort o’ rips;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She’s a sight too fond of ships.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She lives upon a iceberg to the norred,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ her man he’s Davy Jones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ she combs the weeds upon her forred<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With pore drowned sailors’ bones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She’s the mother o’ the wrecks, ’n’ the mother<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all big winds as blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s up to some deviltry or other<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When it storms, or sleets, or snows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The noise of the wind’s her screamin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘I’m arter a plump, young, fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brass-buttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam’n<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So as me ’n’ my mate kin dine.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She’s a hungry old rip ’n’ a cruel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For sailor-men like we,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s give a many mariners the gruel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ a long sleep under sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s the blood o’ many a crew upon her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ the bones of many a wreck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’N’ she’s barnacles a-growin’ on her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ shark’s teeth round her neck.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I ain’t never had no schoolin’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor read no books like you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I knows ’t ain’t healthy to be foolin’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With that there gristly two.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’re young, you thinks, ’n’ you’re lairy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But if you’re to make old bones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steer clear, I says, o’ Mother Carey,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’N’ that there Davy Jones.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="EVENING_REGATTA_DAY" id="EVENING_REGATTA_DAY"></a>EVENING—REGATTA DAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Your</span> nose is a red jelly, your mouth’s a toothless wreck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’m atop of you, banging your head upon the dirty deck;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And both your eyes are bunged and blind like those of a mewling pup,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For you’re the juggins who caught the crab and lost the ship the Cup.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He caught a crab in the spurt home, this blushing cherub did,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the ‘Craigie’s’ whaler slipped ahead like a cart-wheel on the skid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And beat us fair by a boat’s nose though we sweated fit to start her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So we are playing at Nero now, and <i>he’s</i> the Christian martyr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Stroke is lashing a bunch of keys to the buckle-end a belt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we’re going to lay you over a chest and baste you till you melt.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ‘Craigie’ boys are beating the bell and cheering down the tier,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’ye hear, you Port Mahone baboon, I ask you, do you <i>hear</i>?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_VALEDICTION" id="A_VALEDICTION"></a>A VALEDICTION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We’re</span> bound for blue water where the great winds blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crowd’s at the capstan and the tune’s in the shout,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘A long pull, a strong pull, <i>and warp the hooker out</i>.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a rouse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A salt Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘A long pull, a strong pull, <i>and the yard to the mast-head</i>.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Green and merry run the seas, the wind comes cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Salt and strong and pleasant, and worth a mint of gold;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she’s staggering, swooping, as she feels her feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘A long pull, a strong pull, <i>and aft the main-sheet</i>.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-gear strains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil’s in the chains;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘A long pull, a strong pull, <i>and we’re outward bound</i>.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, soon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you steer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Ease her when she pitches, <i>and so-long, my dear</i>.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_PIER-HEAD_CHORUS" id="A_PIER-HEAD_CHORUS"></a>A PIER-HEAD CHORUS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> I’ll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dancing with the stars to watch, upon the fo’c’s’le head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the tread<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a thousand tons of clipper running free.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us to the Downs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens and browns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of towns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’ll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer down the Bay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred and grey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing into spray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the hooker’s fore-foot tramples down the swell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She’ll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the reel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing to feel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to take the wheel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_GOLDEN_CITY_OF_ST_MARY" id="THE_GOLDEN_CITY_OF_ST_MARY"></a>THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Out</span> beyond the sunset, could I but find the way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there’s the Blessed City—so the sailors say—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Golden City of St. Mary.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s built of fair marble—white—without a stain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the cool twilight when the sea-winds wane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Golden City of St. Mary.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are the white tavern tables where the gallants dine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Golden City of St. Mary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh I’ll be shipping sunset-wards and westward-ho<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the green toppling combers a-shattering into snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Golden City of St. Mary.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TRADE_WINDS" id="TRADE_WINDS"></a>TRADE WINDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are the tiny white houses and the orange-trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And day-long, night long, the cool and pleasant breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shuffle of the dancers, the old salt’s tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squeaking fiddle, and the soughing in the sail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And o’ nights there’s fire-flies and the yellow moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the ghostly palm-trees the sleepy tune<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the quiet voice calling me, the long low croon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SEA-FEVER" id="SEA-FEVER"></a>SEA-FEVER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I must</span> down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_WANDERERS_SONG" id="A_WANDERERS_SONG"></a>A WANDERER’S SONG</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A wind’s</span> in the heart of me, a fire’s in my heels,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hunger for the sea’s edge, the limits of the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh I’ll be going, leaving the noises of the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh I’ll be going, going, until I meet the tide.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And first I’ll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The songs at the capstan in the hooker warping out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then the heart of me’ll know I’m there or thereabout.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh I am tired of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’ll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For a wind’s in the heart of me, a fire’s in my heels.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CARDIGAN_BAY" id="CARDIGAN_BAY"></a>CARDIGAN BAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Clean</span>, green, windy billows notching out the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grey clouds tattered into rags, sea-winds blowing high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the ships under topsails, beating, thrashing by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the mewing of the herring gulls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dancing, flashing green seas shaking white locks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Boiling in blind eddies over hidden rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wind in the rigging, the creaking of the blocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the straining of the timber hulls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Delicate, cool sea-weeds, green and amber-brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In beds where shaken sunlight slowly filters down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On many a drowned seventy-four, many a sunken town,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the whitening of the dead men’s skulls.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHRISTMAS_EVE_AT_SEA" id="CHRISTMAS_EVE_AT_SEA"></a>CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A wind</span> is rustling ‘south and soft,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cooing a quiet country tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The calm sea sighs, and far aloft<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sails are ghostly in the moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unquiet ripples lisp and purr,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A block there pipes and chirps i’ the sheave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wheel-ropes jar, the reef-points stir<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faintly—and it is Christmas Eve.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hushed sea seems to hold her breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And o’er the giddy, swaying spars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silent and excellent as Death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dim blue skies are bright with stars.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear God—they shone in Palestine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like this, and yon pale moon serene<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looked down among the lowing kine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Mary and the Nazarene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The angels called from deep to deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burning heavens felt the thrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Startling the flocks of silly sheep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lonely shepherds on the hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-night beneath the dripping bows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where flashing bubbles burst and throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bow-wash murmurs and sighs and soughs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A message from the angels’ song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon goes nodding down the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Rex Judæorum natus est</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I charge you, brothers, sing <i>Nowell, Nowell,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Rex Judæorum natus est</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_BALLAD_OF_CAPE_ST_VINCENT" id="A_BALLAD_OF_CAPE_ST_VINCENT"></a>A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, Bill, ain’t it prime to be a-sailin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Slippin’ easy, splashin’ up the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dossin’ snug aneath the weather-railin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quiddin’ bonded Jacky out a-lee?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">English sea astern us and afore us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reaching out three thousand miles ahead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s own stars a-risin’ solemn o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And—yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There they lie, Bill, man and mate together,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dreamin’ out the dog-watch down below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Anchored in the Port of Pleasant Weather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Waiting for the Bo’sun’s call to blow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over them the tide goes lappin’, swayin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under them’s the wide bay’s muddy bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it’s pleasant dreams—to them—to hear us sayin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hear that P. and O. boat’s engines dronin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beating out of time and out of tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ripping past with every plate a-groanin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spitting smoke and cinders at the moon?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ports a-lit like little stars a-settin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">See ’em glintin’ yaller, green, and red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loggin’ twenty knots, Bill,—but forgettin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They’re ‘discharged’ now, Billy, ‘left the service,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rough an’ bitter was the watch they stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drake an’ Blake, an’ Collingwood an’ Jervis,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nelson, Rodney, Hawke, an’ Howe an’ Hood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’d a hard time, haulin’ an’ directin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There’s the flag they left us, Billy—tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight an’ keep it flyin’—recollectin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_TARRY_BUCCANEER" id="THE_TARRY_BUCCANEER"></a>THE TARRY BUCCANEER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot-gun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And an island in the Spanish Main beyond the setting sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a silver flagon full of red wine to drink when work is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a sandy creek to careen in, and a pig-tailed Spanish mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And under my main-hatches a sparkling merry freight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of doubloons and double moidores and pieces of eight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a taste for Spanish wine-shops and for spending my doubloons,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a crew of swart mulattoes and black-eyed octoroons,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a thoughtful way with mutineers of making them maroons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a sash of crimson velvet and a diamond-hilted sword,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a silver whistle about my neck secured to a golden cord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a habit of taking captives and walking them along a board,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a spy-glass tucked beneath my arm and a cocked hat cocked askew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a long low rakish schooner a-cutting of the waves in two,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a flag of skull and cross-bones the wickedest that ever flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry Buccaneer.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_BALLAD_OF_JOHN_SILVER" id="A_BALLAD_OF_JOHN_SILVER"></a>A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones and the skull;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’d a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’d a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with other people’s brains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken-coop;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, having washed the blood away, we’d little else to do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! the fiddle on the fo’c’s’le, and the slapping naked soles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the genial ‘Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All have since been put a stop-to by the naughty Board of Trade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little south the sunset in the Islands of the Blest.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LYRICS_FROM_THE_BUCCANEER" id="LYRICS_FROM_THE_BUCCANEER"></a>LYRICS FROM ‘THE BUCCANEER’</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> are far from sight of the harbour lights,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the sea-ports whence we came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And our hearts are turned to flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And merry and rich is the goodly gear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll win upon the tossing sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A silken gown for my dainty dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a gold doubloon for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s the old old road and the old old quest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the cut-throat sons of Cain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">South by west and a quarter west,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hey for the Spanish Main.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There’s</span> a sea-way somewhere where all day long<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is the hushed susurrus of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor’s song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wind’s cry calling me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s a haven somewhere where the quiet of the bay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is troubled with the shifting tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the gulls are flying, crying in the bright white spray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the tan-sailed schooners ride.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> toppling rollers at the harbour mouth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are spattering the bows with foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the anchor’s catted, and she’s heading for the south<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her topsails sheeted home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And a merry measure is the dance she’ll tread<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(To the clanking of the staysail’s hanks)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the guns are growling and the blood runs red,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the prisoners are walking of the planks.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DAVALOS_PRAYER" id="DAVALOS_PRAYER"></a>D’AVALOS’ PRAYER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> the last sea is sailed and the last shallow charted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the last fire is out and the last guest departed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, Be good to me, O Lord!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm and thunder,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the loud crying of the wind through sail and rope and spar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and roll me under<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the cold tunny-fishes’ home where the drowned galleons are.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight and hearing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh of the sea-foam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the fine keen bows of the stately clippers steering<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Towards the lone northern star and the fair ports of home.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_WEST_WIND" id="THE_WEST_WIND"></a>THE WEST WIND</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It’s</span> a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Will ye not come home, brother? ye have been long away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the violets and the warm hearts and the thrushes’ song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_GALLEY-ROWERS" id="THE_GALLEY-ROWERS"></a>THE GALLEY-ROWERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Staggering</span> over the running combers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The long-ship heaves her dripping flanks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing together, the sea-roamers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drive the oars grunting in the banks.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">A long pull,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And a long long pull to Mydath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Where are ye bound, ye swart sea-farers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vexing the grey wind-angered brine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bearers of home-spun cloth, and bearers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of goat-skins filled with country wine?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘We are bound sunset-wards, not knowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the whale’s way miles and miles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Going to Vine-Land, haply going<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Bright Beach of the Blessed Isles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘In the wind’s teeth and the spray’s stinging<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Westward and outward forth we go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knowing not whither nor why, but singing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An old old oar-song as we row.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">A long pull,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And a long long pull to Mydath.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SORROW_OF_MYDATH" id="SORROW_OF_MYDATH"></a>SORROW OF MYDATH</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Weary</span> the cry of the wind is, weary the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would I were out of it, done with it, would I could be<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A white gull crying along the desolate sands!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing athirst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the cool green waves of death to arise and burst<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Would that the waves and the long white hair of the spray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would gather in splendid terror and blot me away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters sway<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VAGABOND" id="VAGABOND"></a>VAGABOND</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dunno</span> a heap about the what an’ why,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can’t say’s I ever knowed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaven to me’s a fair blue stretch of sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Earth’s jest a dusty road.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dunno the names o’ things, nor what they are,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can’t say’s I ever will.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dunno about God—he’s jest the noddin’ star<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Atop the windy hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dunno about Life—it’s jest a tramp alone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From wakin’-time to doss.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dunno about Death—it’s jest a quiet stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All over-grey wi’ moss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An’ why I live, an’ why the old world spins,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are things I never knowed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My mark’s the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ jest the dusty road.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VISION" id="VISION"></a>VISION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I have</span> drunken the red wine and flung the dice;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet once in the noisy ale-house I have seen and heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dear pale lady with the mournful eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a voice like that of a pure grey cooing bird.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With delicate white hands—white hands that I have kist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Oh frail white hands!)—she soothed my aching eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her hair fell about her in a dim clinging mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like smoke from a golden incense burned in Paradise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With gentle loving words, like shredded balm and myrrh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She healed with sweet forgiveness my black bitter sins,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then passed into the night, and I go seeking her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down the dark, silent streets, past the warm, lighted inns.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SPUNYARN" id="SPUNYARN"></a>SPUNYARN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Spunyarn</span>, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one to slather the spunyarn, and one to knot the hank;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s an easy job for a summer watch, and a pleasant job enough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To twist the tarry lengths of yarn to shapely sailor stuff.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Life is nothing but spunyarn on a winch in need of oil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little enough is twined and spun but fever-fret and moil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have travelled on land and sea, and all that I have found<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are these poor songs to brace the arms that help the winches round.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_DEAD_KNIGHT" id="THE_DEAD_KNIGHT"></a>THE DEAD KNIGHT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> cleanly rush of the mountain air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are the only things that wander there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pitiful bones are laid at ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grass has grown in his tangled hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a rambling bramble binds his knees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only requiem-bells that rang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were the hare-bell and the heather-bell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hushed he is with the holy spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the gentle hymn the wind sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The misty rain and the cold dew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have altered him from the kingly one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(That his lady loved, and his men knew)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dwindled him to a skeleton.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The vetches have twined about his bones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The straggling ivy twists and creeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his eye-sockets; the nettle keeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vigil about him while he sleeps.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over his body the wind moans<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a dreary tune throughout the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the gull’s cry—as the cry in the bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mournful word the seas say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When tides are wandering out or in.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PERSONAL" id="PERSONAL"></a>PERSONAL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Tramping</span> at night in the cold and wet, I passed the lighted inn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played within.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song the wind sings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It brought the tears and the choked throat, and a catch to the heart-strings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it brought a bitter thought of the days that now were dead to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The merry days in the old home before I went to sea—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my head to the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads again.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_MALVERN_HILL" id="ON_MALVERN_HILL"></a>ON MALVERN HILL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A wind</span> is brushing down the clover,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It sweeps the tossing branches bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blowing the poising kestrel over<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crumbling ramparts of the Caer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It whirls the scattered leaves before us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the dusty road to home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once it awakened into chorus<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heart-strings in the ranks of Rome.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There by the gusty coppice border<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shrilling trumpets broke the halt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Roman line, the Roman order,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swayed forwards to the blind assault.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Spearman and charioteer and bowman<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Charged and were scattered into spray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Savage and taciturn the Roman<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hewed upwards in the Roman way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There—in the twilight—where the cattle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are lowing home across the fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beaten warriors left the battle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead on the clansmen’s wicker shields.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The leaves whirl in the wind’s riot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the Beacon’s jutting spur,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quiet are clan and chief, and quiet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Centurion and signifer.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TEWKESBURY_ROAD" id="TEWKESBURY_ROAD"></a>TEWKESBURY ROAD</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Going through meadow and village, one knows not whither nor why;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the grey light drift of the dust, in the keen cool rush of the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the flying white clouds, and the broad blue lift of the sky;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And to halt at the chattering brook, in the tall green fern at the brink<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the harebell grows, and the gorse, and the fox-gloves purple and white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the shy-eyed delicate deer troop down to the pools to drink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the stars are mellow and large at the coming on of the night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! to feel the warmth of the rain, and the homely smell of the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past power of words;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the blessed green comely meadows seem all a-ripple with mirth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the lilt of the shifting feet, and the dear wild cry of the birds.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_EASTNOR_KNOLL" id="ON_EASTNOR_KNOLL"></a>ON EASTNOR KNOLL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Silent</span> are the woods, and the dim green boughs are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling the cows home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The misty hill-tops.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A silent army of phantoms thronging<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A land of shadows.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="REST_HER_SOUL_SHES_DEAD" id="REST_HER_SOUL_SHES_DEAD"></a>‘REST HER SOUL, SHE’S DEAD’</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">She</span> has done with the sea’s sorrow and the world’s way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wind’s grief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strew her with laurel, cover her with bay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ivy-leaf.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let the slow mournful music sound before her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strew the white flowers about the bier, and o’er her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sleepy poppies red beyond belief.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the black velvet covering her eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the dull earth be thrown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hers is the mightier silence of the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And long, quiet rest alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the pure, dark, wistful eyes of her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er all the human, all that dies of her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gently let flowers be strown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lay her away in quiet old peaceful earth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(This blossom of ours),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She has done with the world’s anger and the world’s mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sunshine and rain-showers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over the poor, sad, tired face of her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the long grass above the place of her<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(The grass which hides the glory and the grace of her),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May the Spring bring the flowers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ALL_YE_THAT_PASS_BY" id="ALL_YE_THAT_PASS_BY"></a>‘ALL YE THAT PASS BY’</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> the long dusty ribbon of the long city street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And—the great movement changes—the pageant passes me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Faces—passionate faces—of men I may not know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They haunt me, burn me to the heart, as I turn aside to go:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The king’s face and the cur’s face, and the face of the stuffed swine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are passing, they are passing, their eyes look into mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I never can tire of the music of the noise of many feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thrill of the blood pulsing, the tick of the heart’s beat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the men many as sands, of the squadrons ranked and massed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who are passing, changing always, and never have changed or passed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_MEMORY_OF_A_P_R" id="IN_MEMORY_OF_A_P_R"></a>IN MEMORY OF A. P. R.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Once</span> in the windy wintry weather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The road dust blowing in our eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We starved or tramped or slept together<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the haystacks and the skies;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Until the tiring tramp was over,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And then the call for him was blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He left his friend—his fellow-rover—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To tramp the dusty roads alone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The winds wail and the woods are yellow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hills are blotted in the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And would he were with me,’ sighs his fellow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘With me upon the roads again!’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO-MORROW" id="TO-MORROW"></a>TO-MORROW</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The upland outlaws ringed us in and herded us as sheep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They drove us from the stricken field and bayed us into keep;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But to-morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the living God, we’ll try the game again!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through and through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our swaying, tattered pennons fled, a broken, beaten few,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and slew;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But to-morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the living God, we’ll try the game again!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And here upon the turret-top the bale-fire glowers red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wake-lights burn and drip about our hacked, disfigured dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a broken heart is here and many a broken head;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But to-morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the living God, we’ll try the game again!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CAVALIER" id="CAVALIER"></a>CAVALIER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> the merry kettle-drums are thudding into rhyme,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dust is swimming dizzily down the village street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scabbards are clattering, the feathers nodding time,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To a clink of many horses’ shoes, a tramp of many feet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seven score of Cavaliers fighting for the King,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trolling lusty stirrup-songs, clamouring for wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Riding with a loose rein, marching with a swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the blue bannerol of Rupert of the Rhine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hey the merry company;—the loud fifes playing—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blue scarves and bright steel and blossom of the may,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roses in the feathered hats, the long plumes swaying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A king’s son ahead of them showing them the way.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_SONG_AT_PARTING" id="A_SONG_AT_PARTING"></a>A SONG AT PARTING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will soon be still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ripe and ready am I for rest in the grave atop the hill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So gather me up and lay me down, for ready and ripe am I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the weary vigil with sightless eyes that may not see the sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have lived my life: I have spilt the wine that God the Maker gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So carry me up the lonely hill and lay me in the grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cover me in with cleanly mould and old and lichened stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a place where ever the cry of the wind shall thrill my sleepy bones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gather me up and lay me down with an old song and a prayer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cover me in with wholesome earth, and weep and leave me there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And get you gone with a kindly thought and an old tune and a sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave me alone, asleep, at rest, for ready and ripe am I.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="GLOSSARY" id="GLOSSARY"></a>GLOSSARY</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Abaft the beam.</i>—That half of a ship included between her -amidship section and the taffrail. (For ‘taffrail,’ <i>see</i> below.)</p> - -<p><i>Abel Brown.</i>—An unquotable sea-song.</p> - -<p><i>Advance-note.</i>—A note for one month’s wages issued to sailors on -their signing a ship’s articles.</p> - -<p><i>Belaying-pins.</i>—Bars of iron or hard wood to which running -rigging may be secured or <i>belayed</i>. Belaying-pins, from their -handiness and peculiar club-shape, are sometimes used as bludgeons.</p> - -<p><i>Bloody.</i>—An intensive derived from the substantive ‘blood,’ a -name applied to the Bucks, Scowrers, and Mohocks of the seventeenth -and eighteenth centuries.</p> - -<p><i>Blue Peter.</i>—A blue and white flag hoisted at the fore-trucks of -ships about to sail.</p> - -<p><i>Bollard.</i>—From <i>bōl</i> or <i>bole</i>, the round trunk of a tree. A -phallic or ‘sparklet’-shaped ornament of the dockside, of -assistance to mariners in warping into or out of dock.</p> - -<p><i>Bonded Jacky.</i>—Negro-head tobacco or sweet cake.</p> - -<p><i>Bull of Barney.</i>—A beast mentioned in an unquotable sea-proverb.</p> - -<p><i>Bumpkin.</i>—An iron bar (projecting out-board from the ship’s side) -to which the lower and topsail brace blocks are sometimes hooked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<p><i>Cape Horn fever.</i>—The illness proper to malingerers.</p> - -<p><i>Catted.</i>—Said of an anchor when weighed and secured to the -‘cat-head.’</p> - -<p><i>Chanty.</i>—A song sung to lighten labour at the capstan sheets, and -halliards. The soloist is known as the chanty-man, and is usually a -person of some authority in the fo’c’s’le. Many chanties are of -great beauty and extreme antiquity.</p> - -<p><i>Clipper-bow.</i>—A bow of delicate curves and lines.</p> - -<p><i>Clout.</i>—A rag or cloth. Also a blow:—‘I fetched him a clout i’ -the lug.’</p> - -<p><i>Crimp.</i>—A sort of scoundrelly land-shark preying upon sailors.</p> - -<p><i>D.B.S.</i>—Distressed British Sailor. A term applied to those who -are invalided home from foreign ports.</p> - -<p><i>Dungaree.</i>—A cheap, rough thin cloth (generally blue or brown), -woven, I am told, of coco-nut fibre.</p> - -<p><i>Forward or Forrard.</i>—Towards the bows.</p> - -<p><i>Fo’c’s’le (Forecastle).</i>—The deck-house or living-room of the -crew. The word is often used to indicate the crew, or those members -of it described by passengers as the ‘common sailors.’</p> - -<p><i>Fore-stay.</i>—A powerful wire rope supporting the fore-mast -forward.</p> - -<p><i>Gaskets.</i>—Ropes or plaited lines used to secure the sails in -furling.</p> - -<p><i>Goneys.</i>—Albatrosses.</p> - -<p><i>Guffy.</i>—A marine or jolly.</p> - -<p><i>Gullies.</i>—Sea-gulls, Cape Horn pigeons, etc.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span></p> - -<p><i>Heave and pawl.</i>—A cry of encouragement at the capstan.</p> - -<p><i>Hooker.</i>—A periphrasis for ship, I suppose from a ship’s carrying -<i>hooks</i> or anchors.</p> - -<p><i>Jack or Jackstay.</i>—A slender iron rail running along the upper -portions of the yards in some ships.</p> - -<p><i>Leeward.</i>—Pronounced ‘looard.’ That quarter to which the wind -blows.</p> - -<p><i>Mainsail haul.</i>—An order in tacking ship bidding ‘swing the -mainyards.’ To loot, steal, or ‘acquire.’</p> - -<p><i>Main-shrouds.</i>—Ropes, usually wire, supporting lateral strains -upon the mainmast.</p> - -<p><i>Mollies.</i>—Molly-hawks, or Fulmar petrels. Wide-winged dusky -sea-fowls, common in high latitudes, oily to taste, gluttonous. -Great fishers and garbage-eaters.</p> - -<p><i>Port Mahon Baboon</i>, or <i>Port Mahon Soger</i>.—I have been unable to -discover either the origin of these insulting epithets or the -reasons for the peculiar bitterness with which they sting the -marine recipient. They are older than Dana (<i>circa</i> 1840).</p> - -<p>An old merchant sailor, now dead, once told me that Port Mahon was -that godless city from which the Ark set sail, in which case the -name may have some traditional connection with that evil ‘Mahoun’ -or ‘Mahu,’ prince of darkness, mentioned by Shakespeare and some of -our older poets.</p> - -<p>The real Port Mahon, a fine harbour in Minorca,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span> was taken by the -French, from Admiral Byng, in the year 1756.</p> - -<p>I think that the phrases originated at the time of Byng’s -consequent trial and execution.</p> - -<p><i>Purchase.</i>—<i>See</i> ‘Tackle.’</p> - -<p><i>Quidding.</i>—Tobacco-chewing.</p> - -<p><i>Sails.</i>—The sail-maker.</p> - -<p><i>Santa Cruz.</i>—A brand of rum.</p> - -<p><i>Scantling.</i>—Planks.</p> - -<p><i>Soger.</i>—A laggard, malingerer, or hang-back. To loaf or skulk or -work Tom Cox’s Traverse.</p> - -<p><i>Spunyarn.</i>—A three-strand line spun out of old rope-yarns knotted -together. Most sailing-ships carry a spunyarn winch, and the -spinning of such yarn is a favourite occupation in fine weather.</p> - -<p><i>Stirrup.</i>—A short rope supporting the foot-rope on which the -sailors stand when aloft on the yards.</p> - -<p><i>Tack.</i>—To stay or ’bout ship. A reach to windward. The weather -lower corner of a course.</p> - -<p><i>Tackle.</i>—Pronounced <i>taykle</i>. A combination of pulleys for -obtaining of artificial power.</p> - -<p><i>Taffrail.</i>—The rail or bulwark round the sternmost end of a -ship’s poop or after-deck.</p> - -<p><i>Trick.</i>—The ordinary two-hour spell at the wheel or on the -look-out.</p> - -<p><i>Windward</i> or <i>Weather</i>.—That quarter from which the wind blows.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span></p> - -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author, -and other poetry</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c">NEW BOOKS BY JOHN MASEFIELD</p> - -<p class="cb">The Daffodil Fields</p> - -<p class="c">Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.36</p> - -<p>“Neither in the design nor in the telling did or could ‘Enoch Arden’ -come near the artistic truth of ‘The Daffodil Fields’.”—<i>Sir -Quiller-Couch, Cambridge University.</i></p> - -<p class="cb">A Mainsail Haul</p> - -<p class="c">Cloth, 12mo. Preparing</p> - -<p>As a sailor before the mast Masefield has traveled the world over. Many -of the tales in this volume are his own experiences written with the -same dramatic fidelity displayed in “Dauber.”</p> - -<p class="cb">The Tragedy of Pompey</p> - -<p class="c">Cloth, 12mo. Preparing</p> - -<p>A play such as only the author of “Nan” could have written. Tense in -situation and impressive in its poetry it conveys Masefield’s genius in -the handling of the dramatic form.</p> - -<p class="c">PUBLISHED BY</p> - -<p class="c"> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span>64-66 Fifth Avenue New York<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"> -JOHN MASEFIELD’S<br /> -<br /> -<big><b>The Everlasting Mercy, and The<br /> -Widow in the Bye Street</b></big><br /> -<br /> -Cloth, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.38<br /> -<br /> -NEW AND REVISED EDITION<br /> -</p> - -<p>“<i>The Everlasting Mercy” was awarded the Edward de Polignac prize of -$500 by the Royal Society of Literature for the best imaginative work of -the year.</i>”</p> - -<p>“John Masefield is the man of the hour, and the man of to-morrow too, in -poetry and in the playwriting craft.”—<span class="smcap">John Galsworthy.</span></p> - -<p>“—recreates a wholly new drama of existence.”—<span class="smcap">William Stanley -Braithwaite</span>, <i>N. Y. Times</i>.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Masefield comes like a flash of light across contemporary English -poetry, and he trails glory where his imaginations reveals the -substances of life. The improbable has been accomplished by Mr. -Masefield; he has made poetry out of the very material that has refused -to yield it for almost a score of years. It has only yielded it with a -passion of Keats, and shaped it with the imagination of -Coleridge.”—<i>Boston Evening Transcript.</i></p> - -<p>“Originality, force, distinction, and deep knowledge of the human -heart.”—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> - -<p>“They are truly great pieces.”—<i>Kentucky Post.</i></p> - -<p>“A vigor and sincerity rare in modern English literature.”—<i>The -Independent.</i></p> - -<p>“If Mr. Masefield has occasionally appeared to touch a reminiscent chord -with George Meredith, it is merely an example of his good taste and the -sameness of big themes.”—<span class="smcap">George Middleton</span> in <i>La Follette’s Magazine</i>.</p> - -<p class="c"> -PUBLISHED BY<br /> -<br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span>64-66 Fifth Avenue New York<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"> -JOHN MASEFIELD’S<br /> -<br /> -<big><b>The Story of a Round-House</b></big><br /> -and other Poems<br /> -<br /> -Cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postpaid, $1.43<br /> -<br /> -NEW AND REVISED EDITION<br /> -</p> - -<p>“John Masefield has produced the finest literature of the year.”—<span class="smcap">J. W. -Barrie.</span></p> - -<p>“John Masefield is the most interesting poetic personality of the -day.”—<i>The Continent.</i></p> - -<p>“Ah! the story of that rounding the Horn! Never in prose has the sea -been so tremendously described.”—<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p> - -<p>“Masefield’s new book attracts the widest attention from those who in -any degree are interested in the quality of present-day -literature.”—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> - -<p>“A remarkable poem of the sea.”—<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> - -<p>“Vivid and thrillingly realistic.”—<i>Current Literature.</i></p> - -<p>“A genuine sailor and a genuine poet are a rare combination; they have -produced a rare poem of the sea, which has made Mr. Masefield’s position -in literature secure beyond the reach of caviling.”—<i>Everybody’s -Magazine.</i></p> - -<p>“Masefield has prisoned in verse the spirit of life at sea.”—<i>N. Y. -Sun</i>.</p> - -<p>“There is strength about everything Masefield writes that compels the -feeling that he has an inward eye on which he draws to shape new films -of old pictures. In these pictures is freshness combined with power, -which form the keynotes of his poetry.”—<i>N. Y. Globe.</i></p> - -<p class="c"> -PUBLISHED BY<br /> -<br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span>64-66 Fifth Avenue New York<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb"><big>The Poems of Wilfrid Wilson Gibson</big></p> - -<p class="cb"> -DAILY BREAD New edition. Three volumes in one. -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">$1.25 net</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Contains “The Shirt,” a new poem of impressive poignancy and power.</p> - -<p>“A Millet in word-painting, who writes with a terrible simplicity, is -Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, born in Hexham, England, in 1878, of whom Canon -Cheyne wrote: ‘A new poet of the people has risen up among us.’ The -story of a soul is written as plainly in ‘Daily Bread’ as in ‘The Divine -Comedy’ and in ‘Paradise Lost.’ ”—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> - -<p class="cb"> -FIRES <span style="margin-left: 2em;">$1.25 net</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>“In ‘Fires’ as in ‘Daily Bread,’ the fundamental note is human sympathy -with the whole of life. Impressive as these dramas are, it is in their -cumulative effect that they are chiefly powerful.”—<i>Atlantic Monthly.</i></p> - -<p class="cb"> -WOMENKIND <span style="margin-left: 2em;">$1.25 net</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gibson is a genuine singer of his own day and turns into appealing -harmony the world’s harshly jarring notes of poverty and pain.”—<i>The -Outlook.</i></p> - -<p class="c"> -PUBLISHED BY<br /> -<br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span>64-66 Fifth Avenue New York<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb"><big>Three Important New Volumes of Poetry</big></p> - -<p class="c">By JOHN HELSTON</p> - -<p class="cb"> -LONICERA AND OTHER POEMS <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Preparing</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This book introduces another poet of promise to the verse-lovers of this -country. It is of interest to learn that Mr. Helston, who for several -years was an operative mechanic in electrical works, has created a -remarkable impression in England where much is expected of him. This -volume, characterized by verse of rare beauty, presents his most -representative work, ranging from the long descriptive title-poem to -shorter lyrics.</p> - -<p class="cb">By HERMANN HAGEDORN</p> - -<p class="cb"> -POEMS AND BALLADS <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Preparing</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>“His is perhaps the most confident of the prophecies of our new poets -for he has seen most clearly the poetry in the new life. His song is -full of the spirit of youth and hope.... It is the song that the new -century needs. His verse is strong and flexible and has an ease, a -naturalness, a rhythm that is rare in young poets. In many of his -shorter lyrics he recalls Heine.”—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> - -<p class="cb">By FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS</p> - -<p class="cb"> -MYSELF AND I <span style="margin-left: 2em;">$1.00 net</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>“For some years the poems of Miss Davis have attracted wide attention in -the best periodicals. That note of wistful mysticism which shimmers in -almost every line gives her art a distinction that is bound to make its -appeal. In this first book—where every verse is significant—Miss Davis -has achieved very beautiful and serious poetry.”—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> - -<p class="c"> -PUBLISHED BY<br /> -<br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -64-66 Fifth Avenue New York<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Salt-Water Ballads, by John Masefield - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SALT-WATER BALLADS *** - -***** This file should be named 52761-h.htm or 52761-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/6/52761/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif , MWS, Bryan Ness and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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