Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard: "Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we; But Thy arm was strong to save, And it touched us on the wave, And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore the sea." Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God: "Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily. There were fourteen score of these, And they blessed Thee on their knees, When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by the sea." Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily: "Our thumbs are rough and tarred, And the tune is something hard— May we lift a Deepsea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?” Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adven turers Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: "Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!" Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 'speckshioner (He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair Dundee): "Ho, the ringer and right whale, And the fish we struck for sale, Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Crying: "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lea! Must we sing for evermore On the windless, glassy floor? Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!" Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him, And 'stablished his borders unto all eternity, That such as have no pleasure For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea. Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it, Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free; And the ships shall go abroad To the glory of the Lord Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea! THE MERCHANTMEN. KING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, For peacocks, apes, and ivory, But we be only sailormen That use in London town. Coastwise-cross-seas-round the world and back again— Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits Plain-sail-storm-sail-lay your board and tack again And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots! We bring no store of ingots, Of spice or precious stones, In flame beneath the tropics, And some we got by purchase, At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, And light the rolling homeward-bound By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred Our galley 's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, With the Norther at our heels: |