The Seven Seas
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Kipling Rudyard
The Seven Seas
DEDICATION TO THE CITY OF BOMBAY
The Cities are full of pride,Challenging each to each —This from her mountain-side,That from her burthened beach.They count their ships full tale —Their corn and oil and wine,Derrick and loom and bale,And rampart's gun-flecked line;City by city they hail:"Hast aught to match with mine?"And the men that breed from themThey traffic up and down,But cling to their cities' hemAs a child to the mother's gown.When they talk with the stranger bands,Dazed and newly alone;When they walk in the stranger lands,By roaring streets unknown;Blessing her where she standsFor strength above their own.(On high to hold her fameThat stands all fame beyond,By oath to back the same,Most faithful-foolish-fond;Making her mere-breathed nameTheir bond upon their bond.)So thank I God my birthFell not in isles aside —Waste headlands of the earth,Or warring tribes untried —But that she lent me worthAnd gave me right to pride.Surely in toil or frayUnder an alien sky,Comfort it is to say:"Of no mean city am I."(Neither by service nor feeCome I to mine estate —Mother of Cities to me,For I was born in her gate,Between the palms and the sea,Where the world-end steamers wait.)Now for this debt I owe,And for her far-borne cheerMust I make haste and goWith tribute to her pier.And she shall touch and remitAfter the use of kings(Orderly, ancient, fit)My deep-sea plunderings,And purchase in all lands.And this we do for a signHer power is over mine,And mine I hold at her hands.A SONG OF THE ENGLISH
The Coastwise Lights
Our brows are wreathed with spindrift and the weed is on our knees;Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking seas.From reef and rock and skerry – over headland, ness and voe —The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England go!Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level floors;Through the yelling Channel tempest when the syren hoots and roars —By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's trail —As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where they hail.We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsman have a care,The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer;From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chainsThe lover from the sea-rim drawn – his love in English lanes.We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool;We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith and Hull;To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the sea —The white wall-sided warships or the whalers of Dundee!Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guard-ports of the Morn!Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn!Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us main to main,The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back again!Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your plates;Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights!Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any seek,The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye speak.The Song of the Dead
I
We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;We yearned beyond the skyline where the strange roads go down.Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need.Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead.As the deer breaks – as the steer breaks – from the herd where they graze,In the faith of little children we went on our ways.Then the wood failed – then the food failed – then the last water dried —In the faith of little children we lay down and died.On the sand-drift – on the veldt-side – in the fern-scrub we lay,That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way.Follow after – follow after! We have watered the root,And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!Follow after – we are waiting by the trails that we lostFor the sound of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.Follow after – follow after – for the harvest is sown:By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own!When Drake went down to the HornAnd England was crowned thereby,'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailedOur Lodge – our Lodge was born(And England was crowned thereby).Which never shall close againBy day nor yet by night,While man shall take his life to stakeAt risk of shoal or main(By day nor yet by night),But standeth even soAs now we witness here,While men depart, of joyful heart,Adventure for to know.(As now bear witness here).II
We have fed our sea for a thousand yearsAnd she calls us, still unfed,Though there's never a wave of all her wavesBut marks our English dead:We have strawed our best to the weed's unrestTo the shark and the sheering gull.If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' paid in full!There's never a flood goes shoreward nowBut lifts a keel we manned;There's never an ebb goes seaward nowBut drops our dead on the sand —But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,From The Ducies to the Swin.If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' paid it in!We must feed our sea for a thousand years,For that is our doom and pride,As it was when they sailed with the Golden HindOr the wreck that struck last tide —Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reefWhere the ghastly blue-lights flare.If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,If blood be the price of admiralty,Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!The Deep-sea Cables
The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar —Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are.There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,Or the great gray level plains of ooze where the shell-burred cables creep.Here in the womb of the world – here on the tie-ribs of earthWords, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat —Warning, sorrow and gain, salutation and mirth —For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor feet.They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed their father Time;Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of the sun.Hush! Men talk to-day o'er the waste of the ultimate slime,And a new Word runs between: whispering, "Let us be one!"The Song of the Sons
One from the ends of the earth – gifts at an open door —Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more!From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed,Turn, for the world is thine. Mother, be proud of thy seed!Count, are we feeble or few? Hear, is our speech so rude?Look, are we poor in the land? Judge, are we men of The Blood?Those that have stayed at thy knees, Mother, go call them in —We that were bred overseas wait and would speak with our kin.Not in the dark do we fight – haggle and flout and gibe;Selling our love for a price, loaning our hearts for a bribe.Gifts have we only to-day – Love without promise or fee —Hear, for thy children speak, from the uttermost parts of the sea:The Song of the Cities
Bombay
Royal and Dower-royal, I the QueenFronting thy richest sea with richer hands —A thousand mills roar through me where I gleanAll races from all lands.Calcutta
Me the Sea-captain loved, the River built,Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold.Hail, England! I am Asia – Power on silt,Death in my hands, but Gold!Madras
Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow,Wonderful kisses, so that I becameCrowned above Queens – a withered beldame now,Brooding on ancient fame.Rangoon
Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade?Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone,And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid,Laugh 'neath my Shwe Dagon.Singapore
Hail, Mother! East and West must seek my aidEre the spent gear shall dare the ports afar.The second doorway of the wide world's tradeIs mine to loose or bar.Hong-Kong
Hail, Mother! Hold me fast; my Praya sleepsUnder innumerable keels to-day.Yet guard (and landward) or to-morrow sweepsThy warships down the bay.Halifax
Into the mist my guardian prows put forth,Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie,The Warden of the Honour of the North,Sleepless and veiled am I!Quebec and Montreal
Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose,Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate.Now wake we and remember mighty blows,And, fearing no man, wait!Victoria
From East to West the circling word has passed,Till West is East beside our land-locked blue;From East to West the tested chain holds fast,The well-forged link rings true!Capetown
Hail! Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand,I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine,Of Empire to the northward. Ay, one landFrom Lion's Head to Line!Melbourne
Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place,Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth,Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-raceThat whips our harbour-mouth!Sydney
Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good;Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness;The first flush of the tropics in my blood,And at my feet Success!Brisbane
The northern stirp beneath the southern skies —I build a nation for an Empire's need,Suffer a little, and my land shall rise,Queen over lands indeed!Hobart
Man's love first found me; man's hate made me Hell;For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies.Earnest for leave to live and labour wellGod flung me peace and ease.Auckland
Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart —On us, on us the unswerving season smiles,Who wonder 'mid our fern why men departTo seek the Happy Isles!England's Answer
Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;Stark as your sons shall be – stern as your fathers were.Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;Sons, I have borne many sons but my dugs are not dry.Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors —Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! —That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face —Thus for the good of your peoples – thus for the Pride of the Race.Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures,I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours:In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.Draw now the three-fold knot firm on the nine-fold bands,And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,Baulking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.Stand to your work and be wise – certain of sword and pen,Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!THE FIRST CHANTEY
Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her;Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound her.Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her;Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us,Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us —Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen;Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen,Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter,Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water;Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her,Called she the God of the Wind that he should aid her.Life had the tree at that word, (Praise we the Giver!)Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing,Wonder was on me and fear, yet she was singing.Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us,Even the Floor of the Gods level around us.Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing,Still the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.Then did He leap to His place flaring from under,He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder.Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing,Cleared He the womb of the world, huge and amazing!This we beheld (and we live) – the Pit of the Burning,Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning;Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly,Back to our slayers he went: but we were holy.Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed,Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed:Over the necks of the tribe crouching and fawning —Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!THE LAST CHANTEY
"And there was no more sea."Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim,Calling to the angels and the souls in their degree:"Lo! Earth has passed awayOn the smoke of Judgment Day.That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?"Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners:"Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee!But the war is done between us,In the deep the Lord hath seen us —Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink the sea!"Then said the soul of Judas that betrayèd Him:"Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me?How once a year I goTo cool me on the floe,And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea!"Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-shore Wind:(He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers flee):"I have watch and ward to keepO'er Thy wonders on the deep,And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the sea!"Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners:"Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we!If we worked the ship togetherTill she foundered in foul weather,Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on the sea?"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 Deep-sea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?"Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers —Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity:"Ho, we revel in our chainsO'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 evermoreOn 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 pleasureFor 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 abroadTo the glory of the LordWho heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea!THE MERCHANTMEN
King Solomon drew merchantmen,Because of his desireFor peacocks, apes, and ivory,From Tarshish unto Tyre:With cedars out of LebanonWhich Hiram rafted down,But we be only sailormenThat 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,But that we have we gatheredWith sweat and aching bones:In flame beneath the tropics,In frost upon the floe,And jeopardy of every windThat does between them go.And some we got by purchase,And some we had by trade,And some we found by courtesyOf pike and carronade,At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings,For charity to keep,And light the rolling homeward-boundThat rode a foot too deep.By sport of bitter weatherWe're walty, strained, and scarredFrom the kentledge on the kelsonTo the slings upon the yard.Six oceans had their will of usTo carry all away —Our galley 's in the Baltic,And our boom 's in Mossel Bay!We've floundered off the Texel,Awash with sodden deals,We've slipped from ValparaisoWith the Norther at our heels:We've ratched beyond the CrossetsThat tusk the Southern Pole,And dipped our gunnels underTo the dread Agulhas roll.Beyond all outer chartingWe sailed where none have sailed,And saw the land-lights burningOn islands none have hailed;Our hair stood up for wonder,But, when the night was done,There danced the deep to windwardBlue-empty 'neath the sun!Strange consorts rode beside usAnd brought us evil luck;The witch-fire climbed our channels,And danced on vane and truck:Till, through the red tornado,That lashed us nigh to blind,We saw The Dutchman plunging,Full canvas, head to wind!We've heard the Midnight LeadsmanThat calls the black deep down —Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer,The Thing that may not drown.On frozen bunt and gasketThe sleet-cloud drave her hosts,When, manned by more than signed with us,We passed the Isle o' Ghosts!And north, amid the hummocks,A biscuit-toss below,We met the silent shallopThat frighted whalers know;For, down a cruel ice-lane,That opened as he sped,We saw dead Henry HudsonSteer, North by West, his dead.So dealt God's waters with usBeneath the roaring skies,So walked His signs and marvelsAll naked to our eyes:But we were heading homewardWith trade to lose or make —Good Lord, they slipped behind usIn the tailing of our wake!Let go, let go the anchors;Now shamed at heart are weTo bring so poor a cargo homeThat had for gift the sea!Let go the great bow-anchors —Ah, fools were we and blind —The worst we baled with utter toil,The best we left behind!Coastwise – cross-seas – round the world and back again,Whither the flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down:Plain-sail – storm-sail – lay your board and tack again —And all to bring a cargo up to London Town!McANDREWS' HYMN
Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,An', taught by time, I tak' it so – exceptin' always Steam.From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God —Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.John Calvin might ha' forged the same – enorrmous, certain, slow —Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame —my "Institutio."I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;I'll stand the middle watch up here – alone wi' God an' theseMy engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strainThrough all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again.Slam-bang too much – they knock a wee – the crosshead-gibs are loose;But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse…Fine, clear an' dark – a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight,An' Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night!His wife's at Plymouth… Seventy – One – Two – Three since he began —Three turns for Mistress Ferguson … an' who's to blame the man?There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow,Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago.(The year the Sarah Sands was burned. Oh roads we used to tread,Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws – fra' Govan to Parkhead!)Not but they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say:"Good morrn, McAndrews! Back again? An' how's your bilge to-day?"Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chairTo drink Madeira wi' three Earls – the auld Fleet Engineer,That started as a boiler-whelp – when steam and he were low.I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow.Ten pound was all the pressure then – Eh! Eh! – a man wad drive;An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder' fifty-five!We're creepin' on wi' each new rig – less weight an' larger power:There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty knots an hour!Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam beganLeaves me no doot for the machine: but what about the man?The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea:Four time the span from earth to moon… How far, O Lord, from Thee?That wast beside him night an' day. Ye mind my first typhoon?It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon.Three feet were on the stokehold floor – just slappin' to an' fro —An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show.Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns – deep in my soul an' black,An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back.The sins o' four and forty years, all up an' down the seas,Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed… Forgie's our trespasses.Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze,The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel stays;Years when I raked the ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong —Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong!Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode —Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road!An' waur than all – my crownin' sin – rank blasphemy an' wild.I was not four and twenty then – Ye wadna' judge a child?I'd seen the Tropics first that run – new fruit, new smells, new air —How could I tell – blind-fou wi' sun – the Deil was lurkin' there?By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy eyes;By night those soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet skies,In port (we used no cargo-steam) I'd daunder down the streets —An ijjit grinnin' in a dream – for shells an' parrakeets,An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an' dried —Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Chief put overside.Till, off Sumbawa Head, Ye mind, I heard a land-breeze ca'Milk-warm wi' breath o' spice an' bloom: "McAndrews, come awa'!"Firm, clear an' low – no haste, no hate – the ghostly whisper went,Just statin' eevidential facts beyon' all argument:"Your mither's God's a graspin' deil, the shadow o' yoursel',Got out o' books by meenisters clean daft on Heaven an' Hell.They mak' him in the Broomielaw, o' Glasgie cold an' dirt,A jealous, pridefu' fetich, lad, that's only strong to hurt,Ye'll not go back to Him again an' kiss His red-hot rod,But come wi' Us" (Now, who were They?) "an' know the Leevin' God,That does not kipper souls for sport or break a life in jest,But swells the ripenin' cocoanuts an' ripes the woman's breast."An' there it stopped: cut off: no more; that quiet, certain voice —For me, six months o' twenty-four, to leave or take at choice.'Twas on me like a thunderclap – it racked me through an' through —Temptation past the show o' speech, unnamable an' new —The Sin against the Holy Ghost?.. An' under all, our screw.That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell,Thou knowest all my heart an' mind, Thou knowest, Lord, I fell.Third on the Mary Gloster then, and first that night in Hell!Yet was Thy hand beneath my head: about my feet Thy care —Fra' Deli clear to Torres Strait, the trial o' despair,But when we touched the Barrier Reef Thy answer to my prayer!We dared na run that sea by night but lay an' held our fire,An' I was drowzin' on the hatch – sick – sick wi' doubt an' tire:"Better the sight of eyes that see than wanderin' o' desire!"Ye mind that word? Clear as our gongs – again, an' once again,When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'-chain;An' by Thy Grace I had the Light to see my duty plain.Light on the engine-room – no more – clear as our carbons burn.I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return.Obsairve! Per annum we'll have here two thousand souls aboard —Think not I dare to justify myself before the Lord,But – average fifteen hunder' souls safe-borne fra' port to port —I am o' service to my kind. Ye wadna' blame the thought?Maybe they steam from grace to wrath – to sin by folly led, —It isna mine to judge their path – their lives are on my head.Mine at the last – when all is done it all comes back to me,The fault that leaves six thousand ton a log upon the sea.We'll tak' one stretch – three weeks an' odd by any road ye steer —Fra' Cape Town east to Wellington – ye need an engineer.Fail there – ye've time to weld your shaft – ay, eat it, ere ye're spoke,Or make Kerguelen under sail – three jiggers burned wi' smoke!An' home again, the Rio run: it's no child's play to goSteamin' to bell for fourteen days o' snow an' floe an' blow —The bergs like kelpies overside that girn an' turn an' shiftWhaur, grindin' like the Mills o' God, goes by the big South drift.(Hail, snow an' ice that praise the Lord: I've met them at their work,An' wished we had anither route or they anither kirk.)Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy Power bringsAll skill to naught, Ye'll understand a man must think o' things.Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage clear —The passengers, wi' gloves an' canes – an' this is what I'll hear:"Well, thank ye for a pleasant voyage. The tender's comin' now."While I go testin' follower-bolts an' watch the skipper bow.They've words for everyone but me – shake hands wi' half the crew,Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew.An' yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's here —No pension, an' the most we earn's four hunder' pound a year.Better myself abroad? Maybe. I'd sooner starve than sailWi' such as call a snifter-rod ross… French for nightingale.Commeesion on my stores? Some do; but I can not affordTo lie like stewards wi' patty-pans. I'm older than the Board.A bonus on the coal I save? Ou ay, the Scots are close,But when I grudge the strength Ye gave I'll grudge their food to those.(There's bricks that I might recommend – an' clink the fire-bars cruel.No! Welsh – Wangarti at the worst – an' damn all patent fuel!)Inventions? Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay.My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business lay,I blame no chaps wi' clearer head for aught they make or sell.I found that I could not invent an' look to these – as well.So, wrestled wi' Apollyon – Nah! – fretted like a bairn —But burned the workin'-plans last run wi' all I hoped to earn.Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant to me —E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee…Below there! Oiler! What's your wark? Ye find her runnin' hard?Ye needn't swill the cap wi' oil – this isn't the Cunard.Ye thought? Ye are not paid to think. Go, sweat that off again!Tck! Tck! It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The Name in vain!Men, ay an' women, call me stern. Wi' these to overseeYe'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee.The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt me to an' fro,Till for the sake of – well, a kiss – I tak' 'em down below.That minds me of our Viscount loon – Sir Kenneth's kin – the chapWi' russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap.I showed him round last week, o'er all – an' at the last says he:"Mister McAndrews, don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,Manholin', on my back – the cranks three inches from my nose.Romance! Those first-class passengers they like it very well,Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns – the loves an' doves they dream —Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublimeWhaurto – uplifted like the Just – the tail-rods mark the time.The crank-throws give the double-bass; the feed-pump sobs an' heaves:An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves.Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides,Till – hear that note? – the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides.They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goesClear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamoes.Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed,To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed.Fra' skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed,An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrust-block says:"Not unto us the praise, or man – not unto us the praise!"Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson – theirs an' mine:"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!"Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose,An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain,Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understandMy seven thousand horse-power here. Eh, Lord! They're grand – they're grand!Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties stood,Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all things good?Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could vex,Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man – the Arrtifex!That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip,An' by that light – now, mark my word – we'll build the Perfect Ship.I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curve – not I.But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. All thanks to Thee, Most High!An' I ha' done what I ha' done – judge Thou if ill or well —Always Thy Grace preventin' me…Losh! Yon's the "Stand by" bell.Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch is set.Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet.Now I'll tak' on…'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thoughtWhat your good leddy costs in coal?.. I'll burn 'em down to port.
