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“Oh, there comes no good in the westering wind
that backs against the sun; “Wash down the decks—they're all too red—and
share the skins and run, “Baltic, Stralsund, and Northern Light,-clean
share and share for all, “You'll find the fleets off Tolstoi Mees, but you
will not find Tom Hall. “Evil he did in shoal-water and blacker sin on the
deep, “But now he's sick of watch and trick, and now
. he'll turn and sleep. “He'll have no more of the crawling sea that
made him suffer so, “But he'll lie down on the killing-grounds where
the holluschickie go. “And west you'll turn and south again, beyond the
sea-fog's rim, “And tell the Yoshiwara girls to burn a stick for
him. “And you'll not weight him by the heels and
dump him overside, “But carry him up to the sand-hollows to die as
Bering died, “And make a place for Reuben Paine that knows
the fight was fair,
“And leave the two that did the wrong to talk it
Half-steam ahead by guess and lead, for the sun
is mostly veiledThrough fog to fog, by luck and log, sail ye as
Bering sailed ; And, if the light shall lift aright to give your land
fall plain, North and by west, from Zapne Crest, ye raise
the Crosses Twain. Fair marks are they to the inner bay, the reckless
poacher knows, What time the scarred see-catchie lead their sleek
seraglios. Ever they hear the floe-pack clear, and the blast of
the old bull-whale, And the deep seal-roar that beats off shore above
the loudest gale. Ever they wait the winter's hate as the thundering
boorga calls, Where northward look they to St. George, and
westward to St. Paul's. Ever they greet the hunted fleet—lone keels off When the sealing-schooners flit that way at hazard
year by year. Ever in Yokohama Port men tell the tale anew
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight, When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light And the Stralsund fought the two!
“And reports the derelict Mary Pollock still at sea."
I was the staunchest of our fleet
Till the Sea rose beneath our feet Unheralded, in hatred past all measure.
Into his pits he stamped my crew,
Buffeted, blinded, bound and threw; Bidding me eyeless wait upon his pleasure.
Man made me, and my will
Is to my maker still,
Lifting forlorn to spy
Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near.
Wrenched as the lips of thirst,
Wried, dried, and split and burst, Bone-bleached my decks, wind-scoured to the
And, jarred at every roll,
The gear that was my soul Answers the anguish of my beams' complaining.
For life that crammed me full,
Gangs of the prying gull
For roar that dumbed the gale · My hawse-pipes guttering wail, Sobbing my heart out through the uncounted
Blind in the hot blue ring
Through all my points I swingSwing and return to shift the sun anew.
Blind in my well-known sky
I hear the stars go by,
White on my wasted path
Wave after wave in wrath
Witless and dazed I bide