Part 2
Sing them when they mock you, Sing them when they shock you, Smothered under topsails with the kingly Horn abeam; When the wind flies round about And the watch is always out, And all hands are wishing that they'd signed to go in steam.
Sing the sea, sing the ships, Sing the sea and its ships, With the molding and the folding Of the wave about their form; Sing them when they teach us, Sing them when they preach us, A lesson in the calm and a sermon in the storm.
Sing them when the dying Wind has left them lying With the canvas in the brails a-tremble to the rolls; And the ocean is so still That you wonder if it will Give back to her who bore them those legions of lost souls.
Sing the sea, sing the ships, Sing the sea and its ships, With the forming and the storming Of the wave athwart their bows; Sing them when you clear them, Sing them when you steer them, For the strength that they have given And the courage they arouse.
For the nation that forgets them, For the nation that regrets them, Is a nation that is dying as the nations all must die; For there never yet was state That met the Roman fate While she had a ship to guard her and a sailor to stand by.
For the traffic you have won, For the web that you have spun, To catch the flies of commerce and the fleeting gnats of trade Will be rent and blown away, For the weak will never pay Their earnings to a people who have stamped themselves afraid.
Pull down the selfish wall! We are not cowards all! There are some who dare to struggle with the traders of the world. Cast off the nation's chain, And give us back the main, And the flag that's never absent and the sail that's never furled.
Sing the sea, sing the ships, Sing the sea and its ships, With the mounding and the pounding Of the wave along their sides; When sailing out and bounding, When towing in and rounding, They drop the anxious anchor and they face the swinging tides.
Sing them when you leave them Sing them when you heave them To a fast berth, a last berth beside the knackers quay; For our ships are getting rotten And our people have forgotten The mission of the vessel and the glory of the sea.
THE MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN'S YARN.
Down came the corvette on our weather; Then thundered our broadsides together. Thus thus we fought all day; And when the sun set and evening spread Across the East her mantle gray, Under our lee she lay, Her decks a mass of dead. Yet at her splintered foremast head Her ensign laughed, Lifting and flapping in the draft, Scorning our shot to bring it down. Our Captain eyed it with a frown To hide his admiration-- Hero himself, he heroes knew, Tho' children of a hated nation. Then to his weary blood-stained crew He cried:-- "To your guns once more And let our broadside roar!" Then hot and close we plied Her with shot that tore Her fore and aft; Yet still that crimson banner laughed-- Yet still her broken, bleeding men Gave back our cheers again.
We would have spared them then; As with fierce and flashing eyes, With eyes aflame with pride, We looked upon a foe Who for twelve hot hours defied A vessel twice her size. But Fate thrust in a bloody fist And gave our hearts a devilish twist. A random shot that hit our rail Came from her foremost gun, And flying in the splinter hail Struck down the one Whose voice had shaped and cheered the fray Thro' all that mad and murderous day. He fell; and for a space we stood As though our smoke-grimed forms had turned to wood, The victims of some deadly spell. Silence--save for the feverish groans of they Who, writhing, dying lay-- Was over all; then suddenly there burst a yell That would have shocked and staggered hell!
Ah! you who sit with me to-night And talk of war, of might and right; Had you been there to see that fight, When, reeling down upon the wreck, We boarded, leaping on her deck, And mad with slaughter--mad and blind With blood of ours, aye, your own kind. We shot and cut, we slew The remnant of that dauntless crew; And when our pikes had struck the last Tore down that ensign from the mast. Had you been there, I say, to see That horror--but, enough for me To tell, we shuddered at the sight When in the chill that follows fight We gazed upon that slaughter pen And knew those things as fellow-men. With feverish haste we cleared the deck, Then fired the slowly sinking wreck, And cutting loose stood off astern, And watched her spar and topsides burn Till suddenly a blinding flash; A roar. Silence. Here--there--a splash And all was o'er. We filled our yard, Though leaking much and laboring hard Stood up for port, and made at last The harbor's light. But ho! avast With tales like this; they breed a thirst-- Another glass--my throat is curs'd With fire. Here's to the gallant tar Who talks of peace, yet longs for war; Who lives to see his ship again Dispute the glory of the main, And man for man, and gun for gun, Meet such another dauntless one.
A FOGGY MORNING.
Seaward driving, like a shriving Gray monk cloaked in gray, Thro' the crowded ship-enshrouded, Buoy-bound reaches of the bay; Misty moving phantoms proving Vessels creeping slowly past. Hark! the droning fog-horn moaning From the steamer looming vast; Bell-buoy telling when the swelling Swell of ocean rocks its boat Where the ledge's granite edges Threaten ships that overfloat; Canvas dripping, dew streams slipping Down the black and swollen gear; Helmsman peering at the steering Compass thro' a watery blear; Topsails dimming in the swimming Vapor sea that floats o'erhead, And the singing seaman swinging Constantly the pilot lead; Sun uprising with surprising Mystic glory haunts the shroud, Red and rolling thro' the shoaling Eastward verges of the cloud; Spars uplifting on the shifting Billows of the fading mist Seem suspended on extended Rippling ropes of amethyst; Day-star bursting, hotly thirsting, Drains the fog with fervid lips; Sunlight flashing shows us dashing Past the port, the town, the ships.
UNKNOWN.
Lo! when the sun was half dropt in the west, As wing-weary sea birds seeking their night-rest, They drifted in upon the harbor's breast.
None knew from whence they came, or where they sailed; No betraying pennon from their mastheads trailed; They answered not when they were loudly hailed.
When the day into the night had died They clustered on the ebbing tide, Like sleeping sea swans, side by side.
The warders at the midnight hour, Within the shadow of the tower, Watched their lanterns rise and lower.
Ere scarce the day and earth had wed, Their oars on either side they spread, Shook out their sails and southward fled.
And when the sun shot up across the bay, Naught showed where they had made their stay, Save the broken corals where their anchors lay.
So into my heart at eventide Ofttimes a fleet of dreams will glide, And all night long at anchor ride.
From whence they come, or where they go, What pain or joy their forms foreshow, I dare not ask--I cannot know.
But when dawn breaks o'er sea and mart, With rippling oars and yearning sails they start, Leaving their anchor marks upon my heart.
THE COASTERS.
_Overloaded, undermanned, Trusting to a lee; Playing I-spy with the land, Jockeying the sea-- That's the way the Coaster goes, Thro' calm and hurricane: Everywhere the tide flows, Everywhere the wind blows, From Mexico to Maine._
O East and West! O North and South! We ply along the shore, From famous Fundy's foggy mouth, From voes of Labrador; Thro' pass and strait, on sound and sea, From port to port we stand-- The rocks of Race fade on our lee, We hail the Rio Grande. Our sails are never lost to sight; On every gulf and bay They gleam, in winter wind-cloud white, In summer rain-cloud gray.
We hold the coast with slippery grip; We dare from cape to cape; Our leaden fingers feel the dip And trace the channel's shape. We sail or bide as serves the tide; Inshore we cheat its flow, And side by side at anchor ride When stormy head-winds blow. We are the offspring of the shoal, The hucksters of the sea; From customs theft and pilot toll, Thank God that we are free.
_Legging on and off the beach, Drifting up the strait, Fluking down the river reach, Towing thro' the Gate-- That's the way the Coaster goes, Flirting with the gale: Everywhere the tide flows, Everywhere the wind blows, From York to Beavertail._
* * * * *
_Here and there to get a load, Freighting anything; Running off with spanker stowed, Loafing wing-a-wing-- That's the way the Coaster goes, Chumming with the land: Everywhere the tide flows, Everywhere the wind blows, From Ray to Rio Grande._
We split the swell where rings the bell On many a shallow's edge, We take our flight past many a light That guards the deadly ledge, We greet Montauk across the foam, We work the Vineyard Sound, The Diamond sees us running home, The Georges outward bound; Absecom hears our canvas beat When tacked off Brigantine, We raise the Gulls with lifted sheet, Pass wing-and-wing between.
Off Monomoy we fight the gale, We drift off Sandy Key; The watch of Fenwick sees our sail Scud for Henlopen's lee. With decks awash and canvas torn We wallow up the Stream; We drag dismasted, cargo borne, And fright the ships of steam. Death grips us with his frosty hands In calm and hurricane; We spill our bones on fifty sands From Mexico to Maine.
_Cargo reef in main and fore, Manned by half a crew; Romping up the weather shore, Edging down the Blue-- That's the way the Coaster goes. Scouting with the lead: Everywhere the tide flows, Everywhere the wind blows, From Cruz to Quoddy Head._
TO-DAY.
The sea and the sky are in love to-day, Their forms are the forms of one; And ships that sit on the lip of the bay, Coming and going the other way, Are sparks in the sparkling sun.
The shape and shadow of yachts that slip Embayed by the land's long sweep Are phantoms that cover a phantom ship, While out on the shoals the summer gulls dip-- To-day is a day asleep.
THE SAILOR OF THE SAIL.
I sing the Sailor of the Sail, breed of the oaken heart, Who drew the world together and spread our race apart,
Whose conquests are the measure of thrice the ocean's girth, Whose trophies are the nations that necklace half the earth.
Lord of the Bunt and Gasket and Master of the Yard, To whom no land was distant, to whom no sea was barred:
Who battled with the current; who conquered with the wind; Who shaped the course before him by the wake he threw behind;
Who burned in twenty climates; who froze in twenty seas; Who crept the shore of Labrador and flash'd the Caribbees.
Who followed Drake; who fought with Blake; who broke the bar of Spain, And who gave to timid traffic the freedom of the main.
Who woke the East; who won the West; who made the North his own; Who weft his wake in many a fake athwart the Southern zone;
Who drew the thread of commerce through Sunda's rocky strait; Who faced the fierce Levanter where England holds the gate;
Who saw the frozen mountains draw down the moonlike sun; Who felt the gale tear at the sail, and ice gnaw at the run;
Who drove the lance of barter through Asia's ancient shield; Who tore from drowsy China what China dare not yield;
Who searched with Cook and saw him unroll beneath his hand The last, the strangest continent, the sundered Southern land;
To whom all things were barter--slaves, spices, gold, and gum; Who gave his life for glory; who sold his soul for rum--
I sing him, and I see him, as only those can see Who stake their lives to fathom that solveless mystery;
Who on the space of waters have fought the killing gale, Have heard the crying of the spar, the moaning of the sail;
Who never see the ocean but that they feel its hand Clutch like a siren at the heart to drag it from the land;
I see him in the running when seas would overwhelm Lay breathing hard along the yard and sweating at the helm.
I see him at the earing light out the stubborn bands When every foot of canvas is screeved with bloody hands.
I see him freezing, starving--I see him scurvy curst, Alone, and slowly dying, locked in that hell of thirst.
I see him drunk and fighting roll through some seaboard town, When those who own and rob him take to the street and frown.
O Sovereign of the Boundless! O Bondsman of the Wave! Who made the world dependent, yet lived and died a slave.
In Britain's vast Valhalla, where sleep her worst and best-- Where is the grave she made you--your first and final rest--
Beneath no stone or trophy, beneath no minster tower, Lie those who gave her Empire, who stretched her arm to power.
Below those markless pathways where commerce shapes the trail, Unsung, unrung, forgotten, sleeps The Sailor of The Sail.
THE YACHT.
How like a queen she walks the summer sea; Her canvas crowning well the comely mold Light loved until it lifts a spire of gold Outlined and inset by a tracery Of rig and spar. Hers is a witchery Of loveliness, that seems to draw and hold The wind to do its bidding. Fold on fold The seas charge in; then stricken by the free Quick lancing of her stem recoil to break Against the breeze; then rushing back they foam Along the rail, and swirl into the wake, And rave astern in many a wrinkled dome. For thus she doth her windward way betake Like one who lives to conquer and to roam.
THE TRADE-WIND'S SONG.
Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love-- I am steady, and strong, and true; They follow my track by the clouds above O'er the fathomless tropic blue.
For close by the shores of the sunny Azores Their ships I await to convoy; When into their sails my constant breath pours They hail me with turbulent joy.
Oh, I bring them a rest from the tiresome toil Of trimming the sail to the blast; For I love to keep gear all snug in the coil And the sheets and the braces all fast.
From the deck to the truck I pour all my force, In spanker and jib I am strong; For I make every course to pull like a horse And worry the great ship along.
As I fly o'er the blue I sing to the crew, Who answer me back with a hail; I whistle a note as I slip by the throat Of the buoyant and bellying sail.
I laugh when the wave leaps over the head And the jibs thro' the spray-bow shine, For an acre of foam is broken and spread When she shoulders and tosses the brine.
Thro' daylight and dark I follow the bark, I keep like a hound on her trail; I'm strongest at noon, yet under the moon I stiffen the bunt of her sail;
The wide ocean thro' for days I pursue, Till slowly my forces all wane; Then in whispers of calm I bid them adieu And vanish in thunder and rain.
Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love-- I am steady, and strong, and true; They follow my track by the clouds above O'er the fathomless tropic blue.
EXECUTION ROCK LIGHT.
Out on its knoll of granite gray, Old Execution rears its ghostly shaft, And thro' the night and thro' the day Speaks cheer to passing craft; While in the sun they see it gleam Upon the horizon, miles afar, And in the dark its changeful beam Flames out a guiding star. From year to year, thro' calm and gale, Across the Sound its warning flare is cast It cries "All's well!" to steam and sail And guides them safely past. One day it hides its form in haze And seems to sentinel some mystic strand; The next, it glories in the blaze Of morning's crimson brand. And now across the stormy tide It spires against the sandy bluff, and shows The front of one who will abide The shock of lusty blows. Along its reef the surges roll, And white with repulse rise and fling their froth Like snow across the rocky knoll, Then burst in foamy wrath. And there it stands, fearless, sedate, Like some brave knight who scorns to couch his lance Against the churls, but with his weight Bears back their wild advance.
THE CARGO BOATS.
I love to see them, laden deep, Come steaming in from ports afar, And, slipping past the light-ship, creep With watchful steps across the bar,
Mauled by the hands of tide and time, All grimy with their grimy coals, Their funnels white with salty rime, And smoky rings about their poles.
Look, now, along the Gedney lane, With pushing bows comes slowly through A West of England cargo wain, With banded stack and star of blue.
There is no beauty in her form; But when has simple beauty paid In vessel destined to perform As Cinderella to the trade?
Go, let her haughty sisters flaunt Their sightly stems and graceful sheers; But let her best, her only vaunt, Be that she is as she appears--
A thing that men have framed to bear Their merchandise at cheapest rates, That's safe to pay a pound a share, And more when there's a boom in freights;
A monster whelped of monster age-- An age that thinks but cannot feel-- Whose Bible is the balanced page, Whose gods are gods of steam and steel.
In her I love the useful thing-- In her I hate the sailless mast; For I am one who cares to sing The glories of the steamless past.
I feel the spirit of the age-- The master splendor of its span-- But make no common with the rage That lifts the thing above the man.
But useless this--we've learned to make The word _mechanic_ fit a song; So let us watch that ship and take Her picture as she jogs along.
The house-flag hoist; the ensign spread; The tackles rove; the booms atop; The deck-gang busy on the head; The anchor ready for the drop.
Though from this outlook men appear No bigger than a dancing midge, I see the pilot standing near The skipper on the upper bridge.
The telegraph is set "stand by"; The oldest hand is at the wheel; And down below with watchful eye The Chief awaits the warning peal.
The engines hiss; the 'scape-pipe roars; The firemen spread the dusty slack, And sternward from her funnel pours A cloud that lingers in her track.
The Hook is past, the buoy abeam; Then slowly to her helm she turns, And getting confidence and steam At full speed up the bay she churns.
Her lean hull shrinks, her spars grow short, Her trailing flag is scarcely seen, As slipping past the granite fort She drops her hook off Quarantine.
And we who watch her turn away And talk of ships and other things, The present and the future day, And what the world will do with wings.
How men will stir with busy hum The upper main, by wake untraced, And how the ocean will become Again a sailless, shipless waste.
THE NOONTIDE CALM.
I.
The azure sky leans on the sea, Inverting its concavity, And in the waveless depths below Re-forms and rolls its cloudy show; For cloud and cloud are piled to shape A mountain here, and there a cape, Until the heavens seem to rest A cheek upon the ocean's breast, And listen, with white lips apart, To catch the beating of its heart. Fathoms deep, oh, fathoms deep, Maid and merman lie asleep; Calm above and calm below; Sheering to the current's flow, Vessels red and vessels brown, Floating, cast a shadow down On the seafolks' coral town.
II.
Slowly the shadows crawl Along the wall Of the sea-king's hall. The sea-grass curtains thro' He looks out upon the blue Glimmering regions that bow down To the magic of his crown. Lord of half an ocean, he Loves to live where rivers three, Flowing from the windy hills, Drinkers of a thousand rills, Pour into the thirsty sea. There he delights to lie, Mirroring the lucent sky In his wild and wondrous eye. Far, far o'erhead he marks The swordfish and the sharks Darting up and floating down; Sees the porpoise, blue and brown, Plunge thro' the silver nebula Of fish;--the herring in dismay Break, scatter like a starry host Whose path some errant sun has cross'd. And he smiles to watch the race When the merry dolphins chase A dogfish from his flying prey; Where the clumsy sea-cows stray, Herded by the mermen strong, Who, with lances light and long, Keep the gaunt sea-wolves at bay.
III.
Shades of vessels that have passed Rope and sail and yellow mast-- On the seafolks' town are cast; And the Merking, startled by Shadows in his crystal sky, Calls the guard at palace gate, Where he reigns in ancient state, Sitting on a coral throne, With sea-mosses overgrown-- Calls his guard to send a slave Skyward, soaring thro' the wave, To command the mariner To move on. The messenger, A dolphin bold, With back of gold, Swiftly cleaving, swirling, leaving A flashing trail, As from each scale And finny tip A silver spray of bubbles slip. Higher, higher rises he, Till from the surface of the sea He leaps, and gloriously Rolls his flashing coat of mail In the splendor of the day. Then the sailors trim the sail, Knowing that the sprightly gale Cometh when the dolphins play. Haste away! Haste away! For the breeze Frets the seas, And the rim of opal hue Burns a green and flames a blue.
THE OLD BUCCANEER'S SONG.
Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main, And I feel the breezes blowing and see those isles again-- Those isles of peace and plenty where we loved to linger long, To woo the black-eyed Carib maid who sang the rover's song; Who, resting in the palm shade when the sun was fierce above, With many a tender measure taught us what indeed is love.
Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main, And I hear my comrades calling me back to them again; For 'tis where the breakers, roaring, flash in and beat the sand-- 'Tis where the feathery plantain shakes its shadow on the strand; 'Neath orange and palmetto and many a flowery tree Dwell the gallant privateersmen who drink and think of me.
Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main-- I see our banners flying and I hear the cheers again: When with many a reckless comrade in vessel tall and true, Before the constant trade-wind to the south-and-west we flew, And ere the haughty Spaniard had thought of danger near Town and tower and galleon were spoil of buccaneer.
Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main, And many a pearl and red doubloon chink in my hand again. Back, back unto the sunny isle to rest a season there-- To bind a lace of priceless gems in my sweet Carib's hair, To feel her arms about my neck, to hear her sing again The pleasures and the glories of our life along the main.
Oh, my heart goes privateering along the Spanish Main, For I am weary waiting for those days to come again. A curse upon this slothful life and this black northern land! Oh, give to me the sapphire sea and southern strand! Oh, let me hear but once again my comrades' ringing cheers, And lead to spoil and victory the dashing buccaneers.
THE BELFRY OF THE SEA.