Into the blue or into the black,
Onward, outward, never back!
Something mighty and weird and dim
Calls me under the ocean rim!

Sailor under sun and moon,
'Tis the ocean's fatal rune.

Under yon far rim of sky
Twice ten thousand others lie.
Love is sweet and home is fair,
And your mother calls you there.

Onward, outward I must go
Where the mighty currents flow.
Home is anywhere for me

On this purple-tented sea.

Star and Wind and Sun my brothers,
Ocean one of many mothers.

Onward under sun and star

Where the weird adventures are!

Never port shall lift for me--

I am Wind and Sky and Sea!

John G. Neihardt [1881

A PASSER-BY

WHITHER, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,

Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales oppressed,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest

In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.

I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest,
Already arrived, am inhaling the odorous air:

I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,
And anchor queen of the strange shipping there,

Off Rivière du Loup

Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare:

1555

Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped

grandest

Peak, that is over the feathery palms, more fair

Than thou, so upright, so stately and still thou standest.

And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless,

I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine
That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,
Thy port assured in a happier land than mine.
But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine,
As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding,

From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line

In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding.
Robert Bridges [1844-

OFF RIVIÈRE DU LOUP

O SHIP incoming from the sea
With all your cloudy tower of sail,
Dashing the water to the lee,
And leaning grandly to the gale,

The sunset pageant in the west
Has filled your canvas curves with rose,
And jeweled every toppling crest
That crashes into silver snows!

You know the joy of coming home,
After long leagues to France or Spain
You feel the clear Canadian foam
And the gulf water heave again.

Between these somber purple hills
That cool the sunset's molten bars,
You will go on as the wind wills,
Beneath the river's roof of stars.

You will toss onward toward the lights
That spangle over the lonely pier,
By hamlets glimmering on the heights,

By level islands black and clear.

You will go on beyond the tide,
Through brimming plains of olive sedge,
Through paler shadows light and wide,
The rapids piled along the ledge.

At evening off some reedy bay
You will swing slowly on your chain,
And catch the scent of dewy hay,

Soft blowing from the pleasant plain.

Duncan Campbell Scott [1862

CHRISTMAS AT SEA

THE sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could

stand;

The wind was a nor'-wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;

All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;

All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,

For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;

But every tack we made brought the North Head close

aboard;

So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running

high,

And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against

his eye.

Christmas at Sea

1557

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home;

The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;

For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)

This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn, And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the
shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to

sea;

And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas

Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.

"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain

call.

"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.

"It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,

And the ship smelt up to windward, just as though she understood.

As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but

me,

As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were grow-
ing old.
Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894]

THE PORT O' HEART'S DESIRE

Down around the quay they lie, the ships that sail to

sea,

On shore the brown-cheeked sailormen they pass the jest

with me,

But soon their ships will sail away with winds that never

tire,

And there's one that will be sailing to the Port o' Heart's Desire.

The Port o' Heart's Desire, and it's, oh, that port for me,
And that's the ship that I love best of all that sail the sea;
Its hold is filled with memories, its prow it points away
To the Port o' Heart's Desire, where I roamed a boy at
play.

Ships that sail for gold there be, and ships that sail for

fame,

And some were filled with jewels bright when from Cathay they came,

But give me still yon white sail in the sunset's mystic fire, That the running tides will carry to the Port o' Heart's Desire.

It's you may have the gold and fame, and all the jewels,

too,

And all the ships, if they were mine, I'd gladly give to you, I'd give them all right gladly, with their gold and fame

entire,

If you would set me down within the Port o' Heart's Desire.