Verses 1889-1896

L’ENVOI TO “LIFE’S HANDICAP”

  My new-cut ashlar takes the light   Where crimson-blank the windows flare;  By my own work, before the night,   Great Overseer I make my prayer.  If there be good in that I wrought,   Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;  Where I have failed to meet Thy thought   I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.  One instant’s toil to Thee denied   Stands all Eternity’s offence,  Of that I did with Thee to guide   To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.  Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,   Bring’st Eden to the craftsman’s brain,  Godlike to muse o’er his own trade   And Manlike stand with God again.  The depth and dream of my desire,   The bitter paths wherein I stray,  Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,   Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!  One stone the more swings to her place   In that dread Temple of Thy Worth —  It is enough that through Thy grace   I saw naught common on Thy earth.  Take not that vision from my ken;   Oh whatsoe’er may spoil or speed,  Help me to need no aid from men   That I may help such men as need!

L’ENVOI

  There’s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,   And the ricks stand gray to the sun,  Singing: – “Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,   And your English summer’s done.”       You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,      And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;      You have heard the song – how long! how long?      Pull out on the trail again!     Ha’ done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,     We’ve seen the seasons through,     And it’s time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,     Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.  It’s North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,   Or South to the blind Horn’s hate;  Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,   Or West to the Golden Gate;      Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,      And the wildest tales are true,      And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,      And life runs large on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.  The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,   And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;  And I’d sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll   Of a black Bilbao tramp;      With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,      And a drunken Dago crew,      And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail      From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.  There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,   Or the way of a man with a maid;  But the fairest way to me is a ship’s upon the sea   In the heel of the North-East Trade.      Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,      And the drum of the racing screw,      As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,      As she lifts and ‘scends on the Long Trail —        the trail that is always new?  See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,   And the fenders grind and heave,  And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,   And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;      It’s “Gang-plank up and in,” dear lass,      It’s “Hawsers warp her through!”       And it’s “All clear aft” on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,      We’re backing down on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.  O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,   And the sirens hoot their dread!  When foot by foot we creep o’er the hueless viewless deep   To the sob of the questing lead!      It’s down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,      With the Gunfleet Sands in view,      Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,        our own trail, the out trail,      And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail —        the trail that is always new.  O the blazing tropic night, when the wake’s a welt of light   That holds the hot sky tame,  And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors   Where the scared whale flukes in flame!      Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,      And her ropes are taut with the dew,      For we’re booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,      We’re sagging south on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.  Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,   And the shouting seas drive by,  And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,   And the Southern Cross rides high!      Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,      That blaze in the velvet blue.      They’re all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,      They’re God’s own guides on the Long Trail —        the trail that is always new.  Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start —   We’re steaming all-too slow,  And it’s twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle   Where the trumpet-orchids blow!      You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,      And the voice of the deep-sea rain;      You have heard the song – how long! how long?      Pull out on the trail again!     The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,     And The Deuce knows what we may do —     But we’re back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,     We’re down, hull down on the Long Trail – the trail that is always new.

THE SEVEN SEAS

1891-1896

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 them        They traffic up and down,       But cling to their cities’ hem        As a child to their 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 stands        For strength above their own.       (On high to hold her fame        That stands all fame beyond,       By oath to back the same,        Most faithful-foolish-fond;       Making her mere-breathed name        Their bond upon their bond.)       So thank I God my birth        Fell not in isles aside —       Waste headlands of the earth,        Or warring tribes untried —       But that she lent me worth        And gave me right to pride.       Surely in toil or fray        Under an alien sky,       Comfort it is to say:        “Of no mean city am I!”       (Neither by service nor fee        Come 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 cheer       Must I make haste and go        With tribute to her pier.       And she shall touch and remit        After the use of kings       (Orderly, ancient, fit)        My deep-sea plunderings,       And purchase in all lands.        And this we do for a sign       Her power is over mine,        And mine I hold at her hands!

THE SEVEN SEAS

A SONG OF THE ENGLISH

       Fair is our lot – O goodly is our heritage!       (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!)        For the Lord our God Most High        He hath made the deep as dry,       He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the Earth!       Yea, though we sinned – and our rulers went from righteousness —       Deep in all dishonour though we stained our garments’ hem.        Oh be ye not dismayed,        Though we stumbled and we strayed,       We were led by evil counsellors – the Lord shall deal with them!       Hold ye the Faith – the Faith our Fathers seal]\ed us;       Whoring not with visions – overwise and overstale.        Except ye pay the Lord        Single heart and single sword,       Of your children in their bondage shall He ask them treble-tale!       Keep ye the Law – be swift in all obedience —       Clear the land of evil, drive the road and bridge the ford.        Make ye sure to each his own        That he reap where he hath sown;       By the peace among Our peoples let men know we serve the Lord!       Hear now a song – a song of broken interludes —       A song of little cunning; of a singer nothing worth.        Through the naked words and mean        May ye see the truth between       As the singer knew and touched it in the ends of all the Earth!The Coastwise Lights  Our brows are bound 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 siren 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 chains  The 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 war-ships or the whalers of Dundee!  Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guardports 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       Hear now the Song of the Dead – in the North by the torn berg-edges —       They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.       Song of the Dead in the South – in the sun by their skeleton horses,       Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust         of the sear river-courses.       Song of the Dead in the East – in the heat-rotted jungle hollows,       Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof —         in the brake of the buffalo-wallows.       Song of the Dead in the West —         in the Barrens, the waste that betrayed them,       Where the wolverene tumbles their packs         from the camp and the grave-mound they made them;                   Hear now the Song of the Dead!I  We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;  We yearned beyond the sky-line 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 lost,  For the sounds 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 Horn        And England was crowned thereby,       ‘Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed        Our Lodge – our Lodge was born        (And England was crowned thereby!)       Which never shall close again        By day nor yet by night,       While man shall take his life to stake        At risk of shoal or main        (By day nor yet by night).       But standeth even so        As 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 years   And she calls us, still unfed,  Though there’s never a wave of all her waves   But marks our English dead:  We have strawed our best to the weed’s unrest,   To 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 now   But lifts a keel we manned;  There’s never an ebb goes seaward now   But 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 Hind,   Or the wreck that struck last tide —  Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef   Where 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 earth   Words, 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, and 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 CitiesBOMBAY  Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen   Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands —  A thousand mills roar through me where I glean   All 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 became  Crowned 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 aid   Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar.  The second doorway of the wide world’s trade   Is mine to loose or bar.HONG-KONG  Hail, Mother!  Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps    Under innumerable keels to-day.  Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps    Thy war-ships 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!CAPE TOWN  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 land   From 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-race   That 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 well,   God 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 depart   To 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 threefold knot firm on the ninefold 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,  Balking 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, took 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,  Till 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 gate 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 went he:  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 away    On 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 betray]\ed Him:   “Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me?    How once a year I go    To 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 keep    O’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 together    Till 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 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):    “Oh, the ice-blink white and near,    And the bowhead breaching clear!   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 lee!    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,   Because of his desire  For peacocks, apes, and ivory,   From Tarshish unto Tyre:  With cedars out of Lebanon   Which Hiram rafted down,  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,  But that we have we gathered   With sweat and aching bones:  In flame beneath the tropics,   In frost upon the floe,  And jeopardy of every wind   That does between them go.  And some we got by purchase,   And some we had by trade,  And some we found by courtesy   Of pike and carronade —  At midnight, ‘mid-sea meetings,   For charity to keep,  And light the rolling homeward-bound   That rode a foot too deep.  By sport of bitter weather   We’re walty, strained, and scarred  From the kentledge on the kelson   To the slings upon the yard.  Six oceans had their will of us   To 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 Valparaiso   With the Norther at our heels:  We’ve ratched beyond the Crossets   That tusk the Southern Pole,  And dipped our gunnels under   To the dread Agulhas roll.  Beyond all outer charting   We sailed where none have sailed,  And saw the land-lights burning   On islands none have hailed;  Our hair stood up for wonder,   But, when the night was done,  There danced the deep to windward   Blue-empty ‘neath the sun!  Strange consorts rode beside us   And brought us evil luck;  The witch-fire climbed our channels,   And flared 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 Leadsman   That calls the black deep down —  Ay, thrice we’ve heard The Swimmer,   The Thing that may not drown.  On frozen bunt and gasket   The 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 shallop   That frighted whalers know;  For, down a cruel ice-lane,   That opened as he sped,  We saw dead Henry Hudson   Steer, North by West, his dead.  So dealt God’s waters with us   Beneath the roaring skies,  So walked His signs and marvels   All naked to our eyes:  But we were heading homeward   With trade to lose or make —  Good Lord, they slipped behind us   In the tailing of our wake!  Let go, let go the anchors;   Now shamed at heart are we  To bring so poor a cargo home   That had for gift the sea!  Let go the great bow-anchors —   Ah, fools were we and blind —  The worst we stored with utter toil,   The best we left behind!       Coastwise – cross-seas – round the world and back again,        Whither 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!