£45 C5 1920 % I'^iil'l'l. '-V.''--.j m }mm m /\ • '^^^^ ■'.^c,^' ' N O ' ^0 '^ * 9 I 1 * <^ ^^^4>' ^> <0v*. - , e " o - ■G' . CHANTEYS AND BALLADS SEA - CHANTEYS, TRAMP - BALLADS AND OTHER BALLADS AND POEMS ■OTHER BOOKS BY HARRY KEMP THE PASSING GOD. Poems JUDAS. A Play THE CRY OF YOUTH. Poems JOHN MERLIN. Forthcoming Autobiographic Novel CHANTEYS and BALLADS SEA-CHANTEYS, TRAMP-BALLADS AND OTHER BALLADS AND POEMS BY HARRY I^EMP NEW YORK BRENTANO'S PUBLISHERS ^'o COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY BRENTANO'S All rights reserved, THE- PLIMPTON PR ESS NOR WOOD- MASS TJ ■ S A JUL ~8 ;320 ICU570577 ^ - ^ t DEDICATED TO RICHARD LeGALLIENNE WHO HAS DEVOTED A LIFE-TIME OF ARTISTRY TO THE MAINTENANCE OF THE HIGH TRADITION OF ENGLISH SONG I N bringing out these poems in book form acknowledgments are due to the following magazines: Adventure, Ainslee^Sy The Century y Collier^s, The Daily Citizen (London), Everybody's, The Forums The International^ The Independent, House and Garden, Live Stories, McClure*s, Munsey's, The Masses, The New Review, The Parisienne, The People's Magazine, The Popular Magazine, The ^ill. The Saturday Evening Post, Snappy Stories, The Smart Set, Telling Tales, The Thrill Book, The Tzveniieth Century Magazine. TO MY READERS I T was in my youth and my eany twenties, at a time when I was thoroughly mad for Hfe and whetted keen in every nerve for picaresque adventure and a man's romance at sea, that I went through the varied experiences from which finally sprang these songs and ballads. For it was not till long after I had left off going to sea and tramping on land that I gained the power to give them forthright expression in song. The tumult and reality were too near me as yet. I had not acquired the necessary per- spective. I could as soon have cut my heart out and held it up for people to look at, as have sung them then. Now, and only after years of comparative settling down, have my experiences ripened into maturity and achieved the incar- nation of the present word. Since those days of tramping and of sea-life, my mode of existence has immeasurably changed. So much so that at times my former life seems only a far dream, or something I must have imagined. All the technicalities of ships and things have dropped through my mind into a forgetting as through a net that holds only big fish and lets the little escape . . . the unimportant has been lost, the everlasting aspects remain. ... ns3 TO MY READERS For still the Shine and Heave of the sea itself overpowers me the same as of old — the beloved ocean pouring in tremendously from all its four horizons. Again I feel the way seamen feel and act. Again there comes to me the breathing night full of gulfs of over-leaning stars . . . those wide dawns and sunsets with no land in sight, that are a spiritual experience in themselves . . . again there comes to me richly the strange, inarticulate growth of soul and heart and mind that intimate experience of sea and sky brings to them who learn and love the life of those who go down to sea in ships . , . again I find the immortal meaning of it all. . . . Rolling freights, jails, vermin, ships at sea, rough fo'c'sle companionships, — I am gladder for these things than for all that I have since learned from classrooms and from books. . . . For only when a chap is down to the buff and hanging on to the ragged edge of things does he get glimpses, through peep-holes of hard work, suffering, and humility, into men's naked souls. As for my chants and ballads out of the Bible, a word of explanation will suffice: once when I was being held over in jail for a fairly extended period, for a crime which I did not commit (which is neither here nor there) ... at a time t6'2 TO MY READERS when I was tramping — I had an only book with me, a Bible. And I found it a real live book, full of men and women who had the color of the earth in their words and lives and thoughts. Possessing this Bible not through piety but by accident, I found power and poetry in those old shepherds and prophets and kings that move and breathe in its pages. . . . And Christ walking about Judea, along the roads, and from inn to inn, somehow got into my soul, together with his honest fishermen- apostles . . . and so the New Testament Life, as well as that of the Old, also became a part of actual contemporary life for me, just as much as the campfires I sat about or the other tramps I consorted with. Harry Kemp C73 CONTENTS To My Readers 5 Chanteys 13 Fo'c'sLE Comradeship. 14 A Seaman's Confession of Faith 15 The Remedy 16 There's Nothing like a Ship at Sea 18 A Shining Ship 20 Going down in Ships 22 The Ship of Dreams 24 A Whaler's Confession 27 The Girl that married Another Man 29 The Doldrums 30 Good-bye 32 The Chantey of the Cook 34 At Sea I learned the Weather 37 Clipper Days 38 The Steamboat Sailor's Reply 40 The Old Sailor's Remedy 43 The Sailor's Farewell , 45 The Fog 46 A Sailor's Life 47 Jim 48 Shanghaied 49 The Sailor's Return 50 The Endless Lure 51 Sailormen 53 The Wreck 54 The Storm 55 191 The Shipwrecked Sailor 56 Wind-jammer's Song 57 The Chant of the Derelict 59 Seaside Talkers 63 Said the Captain to Me 64 Then 65 The Beach Comber 66 The Ballad of English John, the Buccaneer 67 A Caribbean Fantasy 69 Buccaneer Days 70 Ghost-song of the Spanish Buccaneers 72 When Thran was King 74 There was a Little Queen in Egypt 76 The Chantey of Noah and His Ark 78 When Ham and Shem and Japhet — 81 The Chantey of Jonah 83 Hesperides 89 Recollection 90 I've decked the Tops 92 Jail, a Tramp Rhythm 93 Autobiography 94 Ballad of Complaint against the Vagrant Life 95 The Scarecrow Woman 97 The Call 98 Riding by Night 100 The Return loi Experience 103 A Tramp's Prayer 105 The Wild Bird 106 March Night 107 Let Me be still Life's Fool 108 Go TELL the Lying World 109 God's Bacchante no Star-facts iii Midnight 112 Transmutation 113 Rain-sadness 114 Moon-dawn 115 The Cry of Man 116 Towards Dawn 117 Why? 118 Blind 119 Autumn Twilight 120 The Wind's Life 121 Lightning 122 The Dawn 123 Wonder 124 Transit Gloria 125 To One who said he was bored with Life . 126 Exuberance 127 The Humming Bird 128 Tell all the World 129 Wind-magic 130 The Chantey of the Galilean Fisherman.. 131 Chant of the Widow's Mite 134 The Going of His Feet 135 Lazarus Speaks 137 The Angel's Anthem 139 The Unrepentant Thief 140 cm A Rhyme of Two Wayfarers 141 The Playmate 142 A Chantey of Growing Green Things 143 The Rhyme of the Prodigal 145 The Rhyme of the Elder Brother 147 A Fantasy of Heaven 150 Highwayman's Song 151 The Madman 153 The Dead Lover 155 The Disembodied 156 Truth and Lie 157 The Booth of Happiness 158 Unnumbered Worlds 159 The Haunted House 160 The Ballad of the Living Dead 161 The Game Warden's Son 163 The Betrayal .' . . 164 He did not know 168 The Fiddler 169 Street Lamps 170 A Poet's Room 171 Farewell 173 ni23 CHANTEYS X HESE are the songs that we sing with crowd- ing feet, Heaving up the anchor chain, Or walking down the deck in the wind and the sleet And in the drizzle and rain. These are the songs that we sing beneath the sun. Or under the stars of night. And they help us through with the work to be done When the moon climbs into sight. These are the songs that tell our inmost hopes While we pull and haul a-main. The bo'sun booming as we lean with the ropes, And we, bringing in the refrain. C133 FO'CSLE COMRADESHIP Ti HERE'S not much in the fo'c'sle of a ship But old seaboots and chests that stand in rows While up above a smoky lantern glows, And hanging from their pegs the oilskins drip. Sometimes in storms the water washes in; Sometimes we stifle for a breath of air; Yet somehow comradeship gets being there And common hardship makes the stranger kin. . . . Blood-brothers we become, but not in peace, — Still ready to exchange the lie and blow; Just like the sea our quarrels rise and cease: We've never a dull moment down below. . . . But set upon us in a tavern brawl You'll find that you will have to fight us all. ZhI A SEAMAN'S CONFESSION OF FAITH A. .S long as I go forth on ships that sail The mighty seas, my faith, Lord, won't fail; And while the stars march onward mightily In white, great hosts, I shall remember Thee; I have seen men one moment all aHve, The next, gone out with none to bless or shrive Into the unseen place where all must go, — So, Lord, thy mercy and thy gifts I know They think me Godless, maybe, but indeed They do not see how I have read thy creed In flowing tides and waves that heave and run Beyond the endless west where sinks the sun; In the long, long night-watches I have thought On things that neither can be sold nor bought, Rare, priceless things; nor have I scorned nor scoffed At thy sure might, when lost in storms aloft: The prayer and faith of seamen will not fail O God, my God, as long as ships do sail. nis3 THE REMEDY W HEN you've failed with ordered people, when you've sunk neck-deep again In the sluggish wash and jetsam of the slackened tides of men, Don't get old and mean and bitter, — there's a primal remedy — Just take a ship to sea, my lad, just take a ship to sea. There are shipmen grey and aged but still full of ancient mirth. And they drew their joy of living, not from rooting in the earth. But from striking out forever with a sail that's never furled And by seeing all the oceans and the wonder of the world; In the dim, Phoenician days and in the wild sea-times of old Do you think they only voyaged for the red of shining gold? No, they slid beyond the sky-line for they felt it good to be On a ship that tramped with thunder down the highways of the sea. liei When you've drunk the lees of failure, when you've fought and never won, When you've cursed the stale recurrence of the certain, weary sun And the daily, fruitless struggle pledging youth for usury. Come, and cast the world behind you, and take ship for open sea; All you'll need will be your dunnage and your knife upon your hip, And you'll find a bunk that waits you in the fo'c'sle of a ship. And you'll find the wind about you and the everlasting sky Leaning huge from four horizons as the flying scud blows by — And you'll find the ancient healing, ever waiting, ever free, That all men have found forever in the sailing of the sea. Cirn THERE'S NOTHING LIKE A SHIP AT SEA THREE SONGS OF SHIPS Ti HERE'S nothing like a ship at sea with all her sails full-spread And the ocean thundering backward 'neath her mounting figurehead And the bowsprit plunging starward and then nosing deep again. "There's nothing like a ship at sea," sing ho, ye sailormen. Oh, a little wayside tavern is a jolly thing to know Where there's mugs and waiting tables and an open fire a-glow; And it's good to have a song to sing at work as well as play; And it's pleasant to have memories of boy- hood's yesterday; And they say a tried companion walking down an endless road Makes the heavy footfall lighter, shares the burden of the load. . . . And I see my sweetheart walking with her head held proud and high And I wish that I was with her where the bells ring in the sky. . . . But there's nothing Hke a ship at sea with all her sails full-spread And the ocean thundering backward 'neath her mounting figurehead. Oh, it's once you be a sailor you must go to sea again. "There's nothing Hke a ship at sea," sing ho, ye sailormen. 1:193 A SHINING SHIP H .AVE you ever seen a shining ship Riding the broad-backed wave, While the sailors pull the ropes and sing The chantey's lusty stave? Have you ever gazed from a headland's reach Far out, into the blue, To glimpse, at first a flashing mote That to a tall ship grew, A full-sailed ship on the great, broad sea Heel-down and bearing home All the romance from Homer's days To now, across the foam? For, purple-white in rippling dusks. Or edged with sunset's fire, — Behold, each ship is a phantom ship That bears the World's Desire! . . . O merchant, merchant seeking wares That tip full-laden beams. The Living God has made your fleets His argosies for dreams, n^on Far-riding argosies that go With bearded men and strong To the world's ends for merchandise And come back — bearing Song! Legends and songs of Happy Isles And fairy realms a-far Beyond the windless gates of dawn And the white morning star! n2i3 GOING DOWN IN SHIPS VJOING down to sea in ships Is a glorious thing, Where up and over the rolling waves The seabirds wing; Oh, there's nothing more to my neart's desire Than a ship that goes Head-on down through marching seas With streaming bows; Would you hear the song of the viewless winds As they walk the sky? Come down to sea when the storm is on And the men stand by. Would you see the sun as it walked abroad On God's First Day? Then come where dawn makes sea and sky A gold causeway. Oh, it's bend the sails on the black cross-yards For the day dies far And up a windless space of dusk Climbs the evening star. . . . Now there's gulf on foaming gulf of stars That lean so clear That it seems the bastions of heaven Are bright and near n223 And that, any moment, the topmost sky May froth and swim With an incredible bivouac Of seraphim. . . . O wide-flung dawn, O mighty day And set of sun! . , . O all you cHmbing stars of God, Oh, lead me on! . . Oh, it's heave the anchor, walk and walk The capstan 'round — Far out I hear the giant sea's World-murmuring sound! I 23 2 THE SHIP OF DREAMS i5HIP drawing furrows of following foam Leaning down shoreward out of the sky, What are the dreams you are carrying home. What are the dreams that you bring us to buy? "You may purchase your fill, you may have what you will" The Great Ship, leaning, made her reply, "For I bear all cargoes here in my hold As down the ways of the sky I dance, Chests of ebony, plates of gold. The High Adventure, The Great Romance, The One True Love that you've long dreamed of, The Single Throw Of The Dice Of Chance; The Riches you seek and the Fame you've pursued. The Joy of the Sweet, Vine-Trellised Cot, And every dream wherewith you've endued The hopes of Man in his earthly lot. But in the end, my friend, my friend. You've got to pay for the Dream you've sought." The Ship swept on like a moving cloud In tier on tier of heavenly white. Singing with great winds, thunder-bowed. The joy of the ocean, the waves' delight. While climbing high in the rocking sky. Her mariners went up, small, from sight. . . . Then the people came crowding from field and town To see the Ship of Their Dreams come in, Through highway and byway pouring down They made a noise like a market's din, The Rich and The Poor, The Gentle and Boor, The Glad and The Sad, The Fat and The Thin: For there's never a person but has his dream Or who has not sent his heart a-far Where the moving hills of the Ocean gleam Beyond the reach of the harbour-bar Whence the day is born, a-new, each morn Preceded by the morning star. . . . The traffic of unlading began. From the holds' last depths the merchandise came; They crowded closer, woman and man. Each answering to his echoed name: And they bore away, the Sad and the Gay, Their bundles of woe and joy and shame. The Poet got his fame — and his crust, The Statesman achieved his empty height, The Miser clutched his ignoble dust. The Conqueror's crown, it shone so bright That his eyes were blind to the storm behind And the pit that yawned at his feet forth- right. . . . 1:253 Now rose a wailing that grew and grew, "Nay, this is not as our hope did seem; We have gained a thing we never knew!" Then answered a Voice, "Aye, so ye deem? . . . Yet to each, as he Hves, the Captain gives, — And for the Dream, The Reward Of The Dream! ..." And yet full many were jocund there. And, singing, bore their burdens away. For they knew that the Captain had trafficked fair, And they had no word of cavil to say — As away from the rout the Ship drew out Till it hung, like a star, on the edge of the day. 1:26a A WHALER'S CONFESSION X HREE long years a-sailing, three long years a-whaling, Kicking through the ice floes, caught in calm or gale, Lost in flat Sargasso seas, cursing at the prickly heat, Going months without a sight of another sail. I've learned to hate the Mate, and I've always cursed the Captain. I hate the bally Bo'sun, and all the bally crew, — And, sometimes, in the night-watch, the long and starry night-watch. Queer thoughts have run wild in my head — I've even hated you! You, that have been my shipmate for fifteen years of sailing. From Peru to Vladivostock, from England to Japan. ... Which shows how months of sailing, when even pals go whaling, Can get upon the bally nerves of any bally ma 1:273 I'm glad our nose points homeward, points home again to Bristol, — I'm glad for Kate who's waiting, far down a little lane: I'll sign her for a long cruise, a longer cruise than this one. And seal the bargain like a man, before I sail again. Yes, I will still go sailing; yes, I will still go whaling: I've done a lot of thinking along of love and hate. . . . For signing on a woman's a cruise that lasts a lifetime — And I'd rather hate a hundred crews than take to hating Kate! Three long years of whaling . . . yes, a life- time sailing, Kicking through the ice floes, caught in calm or gale. Lost in flat Sargasso seas, cursing at the prickly heat. Going months without a sight of another sail! 1:283 THE GIRL THAT MARRIED ANOTHER MAN Oi 'H, it's easy come and it's easy go With most of the Httle girls I know, — Haul away, my bullies; And when you come, and when you part, They never take it deep to heart, — Haul away, my bullies. Oh, there was Martha, at Liverpool, She never heard of the Golden Rule, — Haul away, my bullies; And there was Gulla, the Temple Girl, And Minnie, and Marie, and Pearl, — Haul away, my bullies. In Rotterdam, Marseilles, Orleans, — And each of 'em taught me what love means; Haul away, my bullies . . . But there is a girl that stands apart, I can never get her out of my heart, — Haul away, my bullies; Oh, I TRY TO FORGET, BUT I NEVER CAN, The girl that married another man — Haul away, my bullies! 1:293 Ti THE DOLDRUMS A STILL-LIFE PICTURE HE sails hang dead, or they Hft and flap like a cornfield scarecrow's coat, And the seabirds swim abreast of us like ducks that play, a-float. And the sea is all an endless field that heaves and falls a-far As if the earth were taking breath on some strange, alien star. For there are miles and miles of weed that tramp around and 'round Till a fellow's tempted to step out and try if it's the ground. And, sometimes, when we strike a space that's clear of wild sea-grass Our faces look up true and smooth as from a looking glass — For unwrinkled as a baby's smile the ocean lies about And a pin would break in ripples if we only cast one out. . . . But the skipper isn't happy for there's not a wind that blows, — And beware the Mate's belaying pin as up the deck he goes, For the ship, she's rolling, rolling like a nigger on a spree n3o3 And the cargo's almost shifted as we wallow in the sea Because, out somewhere miles away a storm is waking hell. . . . And up smooth lifts of bubbling weed we ride the rolling swell. . . . Oh, each inch of us is crawling with the itch of prickly heat; We can hear our own blood throbbing like a Chinese tom-tom's beat And we catch a voice that's lifted, though it hardly seems in prayer — It's the poor old cook that's cursing in the boiling galley there. . . . Oh, the region of the doldrums, for the devil it was made And all decent seamen hate it as they pray for winds of trade As they flounder toward the trade-winds where the sails lift full and free And once more the prow runs onward foaming through the open sea. CsO GOOD-BYE! A CHANTEY TO BE SUNG AT THE CAPSTAN CjOOD-BYE to Dirty Kate's saloon (Walk 'er round) As we slither past the last sand dune. (Walk 'er round We're outward bound). Good-bye to all our friends in town (We're outward bound) Our FRIENDS — while we had half a crown, (Walk 'er round We're outward bound) Good-bye to the rum that scrapes like wire, (Walk 'er round) And whiskey with its claws of fire. (Walk 'er round We're outward bound) Good-bye to the gravestones on the hill (We're outward bound) Above the town where we got our fill — (Walk 'er round We're outward bound) 1:323 Our fill of the kind that cry "give, give!" (Walk 'er round) Of the people that say "we've got to live!" (Walk 'er round We're outward bound). . . . Good-bye, till we come to get trimmed again; (We're outward bound) For it's always the way with sailormen! (Walk 'er round We're outward bound) For there's something about this going to sea (Walk 'er round) That makes a fellow big and free. (Walk 'er round We're outward bound) So lean on your bars and walk 'er round (We're outward bound) There's a good stiff wind, and we're outward bound! . . . Thank God, boys, we're outward bound! (Walk *er round We're outward bound) C333 THE CHANTEY OF THE COOK DITHYRAMB OF A DISCONTENTED CREW X HE Devil take the cook, that old, grey- bearded fellow, Yo ho, haul away! Who feeds us odds and ends and biscuits whisk- ered yellow. (And the home port's a thousand miles away.) The Devil take the cook, that dirty old dufFer, Yo ho, haul away! Each day he makes the captain fatter and bluffer, (But we'll have to eat hardtack for many a day). The ship-biscuit's mouldy and the spuds we get are rotten, Yo ho, haul away! And the tinned goods that's dished up is seven years forgotten, Yo ho, haul away! And each, in his heart, has marked the cook for slaughter, (And it won't do him any good to pray). For the coffee's only chickery half-soaked in luke-warm water, Yo ho, haul away! 1:34:] It's put on your best duds and join the dele- gation ; Yo ho, haul away! We're aft to ask the captain for a decent ration, (And to drop the cook at Botany Bay. . . .) Look here, you cabin boy, what has set you laughin' ? Yo ho, haul away! Don't tell us no lies or we'll clout your ears for chaffin', For we're not a lot of horses that can live on hay. What's this you're tellin'? Is it plum duff and puddin'? Yo ho, haul away! Why not make it roast beef and let it be a good 'un? For plum duff and rum's not a feast for every day. Oh, it ain't the cook's fault that we eat one day in seven. Yo ho, haul away! It's the owners of the ship, — may they never get to heaven (No matter how hard they pray). n353 It's the owners of the ship that give us meat that's yellow, Yo ho, haul away! And after all the cook's a mighty decent fellow (Though we'll have to eat rotten grub for many a day). O Lord up in heaven, when their souls and bodies sever, Yo ho, haul away! May the owners squat in hell gnawing at salt- horse forever And the grub that they give us every day, . . . Excepting for one thing, O Lord God in heaven, Yo ho, haul away! Don't let them have no plum duff one day in seven, {All together with great vigor) But forever and forever and unto eternity the truck that we're fed on every day. Amen! 1:363 AT SEA I LEARNED THE WEATHER A lT sea I learned the weather, At sea I learned to know That waves raged not forever, Winds did not ever blow. I learned that, 'mid the thunder, Wa.s nothing might avail But lying to and riding The storm with scanted sail. Knowing that calm would follow Filled full of golden light Though hail and thunder deafened The watches of the night. And, now today I'm sailing The changing seas no more. But tied up to a woman And snug and safe ashore. With pipe and 'baccy handy And Sal still loving me — I tell you that I'm thankful For things I learned at sea! C373 I CLIPPER DAYS A SONG FROM SNUG HARBOUR An Old Sailor to A Young One AM eighty year old and somewhat, But I give to God the praise That they made a sailor of me In the good old Clipper Days When men loved ships like women, And going to sea was more Than signing on as deckhand And scrubbing a cabin floor. Or chipping rust from iron And painting . . . and chipping again. In the days of Clipper Sailing The sea was the place for men: You could spy our great ships running White-clouded, tier on tier; You could hear their trampling thunder As they leaned to, racing near; And it was "heigh and ho, my lad," And *'we are outward bound," — And we sang full many a chantey As we walked the capstan round, 1:38] And we sang full many a chantey As we drove through wind and wet To the music of Five Oceans Ringing in my memory yet. . . . Go drive your dirty freighters That fill the sky with reek, — But we — we took in sky-sails High as a mountain-peak; Go, fire your sweaty engines And watch your pistons run, — We had the winds to serve us, The living winds, my son, And we didn't need propellers That kicked a mess about. But we hauled away with chanteys Or we let the great sails out. . . . And I'm eighty year old and somewhat And I give to God the praise That they made a sailor of me In the good old Clipper Days! n39,l THE STEAMBOAT SAILOR'S REPLY T CAN'T talk back to yoUy Daddy ^ but give me a "*■ word or two: Things change, and the world goes onward, and there' s always something new In spite of the Wise Kings saying {to God be all the praise), And men still seek out new things and search for better ways. I grant there's nothing finer than a full-rigged ship at sea With the rising moon behind her, or the sinking sun a-lee, But there's also naught surpasses the unceasing engine room Where the harnessed fire and lightning pushes onward through the gloom And the living rods and pistons plunge with a continued might While a hundred golden port-holes go a-sweeping down the night, — And the furnaces, red-flaring, with the small, black shapes close by Of the men that feed their hunger: let the Strength of Them reply! . . . 1:401 We don't roll and wait the wind's will, nay, we go our constant ways Where you lay, becalmed and cursing, in those Good Old Clipper Days; We go trailing smoky banners round the world and back again; Tide and wind, they wait upon us and obey the will of men. With the strength of many horses now the milky-turning screw Beats the wave-bulk to submission as we lift and thunder through; Head-on to the wind we labour, we defy the tempest's will Where you rode bare-stripped, or waited for the hollow sails to fill; We make ports you never thought of, we hail coasts you never knew. We go ramming up wide rivers like an ocean to the view. We go in and out of islands where the reefs lie under hand, — We began the Great Surrender of the Wind to Man's Command, When big wing-spread ships will wander down the reaches of the clouds. And they won't need steam as we do, as we don't need sails and shrouds, 1:4a And they'll climb the top of heaven with ten cargoes to our one, And their tracks will reach from sunrise to the setting of the sun. . „ . And, sometime, I'll maybe sit here, full of age, and sing the praise In the ears of young air-sailors Of the Good Old Steamboat Days! 14^1 THE OLD SAILOR'S REMEDY W. HEN love is driving hard ahead Through squall on gusty squall There's nothing like a ship at sea With masts square-rigged and tall , . . Jack swears that he will never, He will never love again: (They've nosed the ship from harbour Through the grey, enormous rain); Jim vows that he will never Look again in Mary's eyes: (And both of them believe their oaths — Yet what they swear is — lies!) Oh Billy and his girl were out For many a doleful day: The only remedy for all Was for to sail away. To sail away, to sail away Forgetting girls and love Where, white as new-washed sheep, the waves Crowd onward, drove on drove. . , , Oh, heave the rattling anchor up And walk the capstan round — They've left the god of love behind. They're free, and outward bound. . , . C 43 3 One day . . . and two . . . the ocean sweeps And curdles at the prow — Then comes a pull to Billy's mouth A pucker to Jim's brow, And Jack, he climbs, disconsolate, To reef the sails above — They're thinking. Oh, they're thinking Of the little girls they love. . . . It isn't very long before The ship's a secret flame As every seaman, night and day. Repeats some woman's name. And, as they holystone the deck, Or chip the rust, or paint. The things they didn't like in them Seem virtues of a saint: Oh, some say this, and some say that When sweethearts don't agree — But I say KEEP THE GIRLS AT HOME AND SHIP THE LADS TO SEA. n443 Oi THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL A CHANTEY 'H, what will you do, my own love, When you go down to sea? — I'll pull upon the halyards At portside and at lee. And is there nothing else, love? — I'll climb the whistling shrouds And sing, and take in sky-sails Away up in the clouds. There's something you've forgotten! . . . — I'll walk my watch by night While all the stars of heaven Lean over, height on height. Is this the way you leave me? love, you break my heart! — I've hugged you and I've kissed you, How else may lovers part? If you have nothing better! . . . — I'll wear upon my breast The picture that you gave me And say your love is best. At halyards and at sky-sails. At watch, both night and day! . . . AT LAST you've SAID THE RIGHT WORDS 1 WANTED YOU TO SAy! n4s3 THE FOG X HE fog fell: lamps were filled and lit; They glimmered in mid-day, — And, step by step, men went abroad Into a world all grey. 14^1 A SAILOR'S LIFE Oi 'H, a sailor hasn't much to brag — An oilskin suit and a dunnage bag. But, howsoever humble he be, By the Living God, he has the sea! The long, white leagues and the foam of it, And the heart to make a home of it. On a ship that kicks up waves behind Through the blazing days and tempests blind. Oh, a sailor hasn't much to love — But he has the huge, blue sky above. The everlasting waves around. That wash with an eternal sound. So bury me, when I come to die, Where the full-sailed, heeling clippers ply; Give up the last cold body of me To the only home that I have — the sea! 1:473 Wi JIM E couldn't make him out: he seldom spoke; We never caught him smiling at a joke — And yet he was a decent lad for work: On watch or off, he was the last to shirk — So that, among ourselves, we came to say, "Jim, he's alright, he's only got his way." Yet, somehow, in each storm he didn't care. His life or death seemed only God's affair — So when the cry came, in a Nor' west Blow, "Man overboard!" we each one seemed to know; From the main topsail yardarm he had gone Into the boiling seas . . . the ship held on; There was no saving him in such a gale. Then, when the dawn came, wide, and grey, and pale. We brought his sea-chest aft with all it stored (The custom when a man goes overboard). It held the usual things that sailors own; But, at the bottom, in a box, alone. We found a woman's picture — and we knew, Now, why he'd been so offish with the crew — He'd written it as plain as plain could be — "She went and married him instead of me!" US] SHANGHAIED Shanghaied! . . . i swore ra stay ashore And sail the wide, wide seas no more! . . . Shanghaied! shanghaied! Shanghaied — with pals I've never known, And my heart's as heavy as a stone. . . . Shanghaied! . . . shanghaied! Yes, here's the wide, grey sea again And the work that takes the souls from men. Shanghaied! . . . shanghaied! Yes, yon's the mist they call the shore, And here are the ropes I must haul once more — Shanghaied! . . . shanghaied! Shanghaied — and on a ship I hate. With a cur for a captain, a brute for a mate. . . Shanghaied! . . . shanghaied! Oh, when I set my foot ashore I'll drink no more . . . and I'll sail no more! Shanghaied ! Shanghaied ! 1:493 THE SAILOR'S RETURN Oi 'H love of mine, what shall I do When your ship comes sailing home With its white sails in the sky And its wake all white with foam. — Meet me at the silent bend Where the river runs to sea; Have the cottage fire a-glow, Kettle on the hob for me. There's a kettle on the hob And the fire is a-light. — Set a lamp to guide me in, I might come when it is night. Nay, I have my bride-dress on. Nothing can my vow undo, — They've bound me to another man. To another, not to you. — Sweetheart, what is that to me ! I will neither bless nor ban . . . My body's fifty fathom down; I'm a ghost, and not a man! cson THE ENDLESS LURE W. HEN I was a lad I went to sea And they made a cabin boy of me. (Yo ho, haul away, my bullies) We'd hardly put out from the bay When my knees sagged in and my face turned grey; So I went to the captain and I implored That he'd let the pilot take me aboard, And fetch me back to the land again Where the earth was sure for the feet of men. . . . But the Captain, he laughed out strong, and said, "You'll follow the sea, lad, till you're dead; For it gets us all — the sky and the foam And the waves and the wind, — till a ship seems home." When I shipped as an A. B. before the mast I swore each voyage would be my last. . . . Was always vowing, and meant it, too, That I'd never sign with another crew. . , . You tell me *'The Castle" is outward bound. An old sky-sailor, for Puget Sound.? CsO "Too old!" . . . but I know the sea like a book. . . . Well, Fve heard that your "Old Man" needs a cook! . . . Yes, I could rustle for twenty men. . . . So, God be praised, you can use me, then? . . . Oh, there's only a few years left for me. And I want to die, and be buried at — sea! Cs^n SAILORMEN W HEN our ship gets home again, after cruising up and down, Where the old, familiar hills crowd above the little town, Oh, we'll reef the weary sails in the shelter of the bay. And we'll find it just the same as the hour we went away With the steeple of the church through the tree tops peering out. With the same accustomed streets, and the friends we knew, about. Oh, we'll sit before the hearth and we'll smoke a pipe or so. And we'll have a pot of ale at the inn before we go, _ . And we'll kiss the prettiest girls, and we'll tell the children tales Of the countries that we've seen, of the ship- wrecks and the gales, Till the cargo's battened down, and we're out- ward bound once more While the sea goes rushing back to the far, receding shore. 1:533 THE WRECK S EARED bone-white by the glare of summer weather, Cast side-long, on the barren beach she lies, She who once brought the earth's far ends together And ransacked East and West for merchandise. The sea-gulls cluster on her after-deck Resting from the near seas that wash and fall. .... But, I have heard, at night this side-cast wreck (When all the belfry bells at midnight call) Puts up sail and goes out past mortal seeing: Once more the oceans break beneath her will And she resumes the breath of her old being; She lives the dreams that slumber in her still. ThrilHng as down the windy Dark she slopes, Ecstatic, as her sails grow great with wind — • She feels the seamen walking with her ropes. The harbour dropping like a star behind. C54:3 THE STORM A HE sea rose and the crests swept by Like clouds of white, close-flying birds And the wind drove from sky to sky The waves' illimitable herds; And, though a thousand miles from land, We heard innumerable feet, A motion and commingled sound Like routed armies in retreat. Issl THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR HERE blossomed into golden day another rosy morn: The shipwrecked sailor woke, and watched again, of hope forlorn. From his high, purple-misted peak, a rag about his hip: His only dream, his native land — his only prayer, a ship! The fringe of surf laced in and out along the shell-strewn shore; Beside the reef strange creatures sailed plying a sentient oar. And, great and wide, the sea rolled far in azure distance dim And laved the edges of the sky with its blue- washing rim. The sailor thought of paven streets in a far, smoky town Where day and night the cable-cars went boom- ing up and down: Each little common thought of men smote through him like a dart. And memories of a woman winged like white birds through his heart. i:s63 Ai WIND-JAMMER'S SONG 1845. CUPPER DAYS XL hands on deck, below there! The storm is coming soon, The clouds tramp on in panic Across the swirling moon. The wind pipes in the halyards, We lean with scanted sail; Now, with a leap, we're riding The first rush of the gale; The lubbers in their cabins Crouch close and pray for life: The young man free and single, The old man, by his wife; And one would give his fortune. And one, his love so fair. For solid earth to stand on If but a furlong square. It's up the shrouds, my hearties, And reef the gansells tight, — The blow that we are having May blow the world from sight. . . . Tomorrow, lads, the landsmen, How they will strut and lie, — And we — we'll squirt tobacco And wink the other eye, Saying, as we plunge onward With tier on tier of sail — "I've seen worse in my time, sir. Yet — 'twas a proper gale!" Css] THE CHANT OF THE DERELICT D 'RIFTING, drifting here with the tide While the seams that the sea-weeds caulk gape wide Like a star with eternity for its bride I accept the measureless sea — While trampling oceans break in foam Comb over phosphorescent comb Over and over me. Driven, driven at the wind's will Through dawns and midnights far and still While the sun, as huge as the top of a hill. Heaves from, sinks in, the Main, — To the north, to the south, to the east, to the west I plunge and plunge my blackened breast And turn and turn again. And ever I dream of the shifting feet Of seamen above, and the whistle sweet — Though the driving rain and the wind and the sleet — Of the bo'sun that calls in storm. . . . And the ships that I have known in the Past Grow, full-sailed, on the ghostly blast, Form over swelling form. . . . ns93 Tbank God that I, though black-decayed, Through the broken path of the moon still wade Or where dawns like shimmering silks invade The drab of the eastern skies, — That still I wallow through trembling stars And shatter them into silver bars Where a Way of Wonder lies, — I, a Derelict, broken and vast. By every wave that lips me cast Till I think each lift will be my last Ere I sink to the depths below. Where a thousand comrades, strewn along. Made brave by legend and tale and song Wait, coral-grown, in a row. . . . 'Tis said that theyVe charted me, marked me down As a drifting thing of ill-renown By the varying tides and breezes sown In the paths of orderly ships, — I, who have carried their India wares. And, running about the world's affairs, Have met all seas at grips! Alas, for the thankless heart of Man, That, full of service, the Survey's ban Should fall on me who, full-rigged, ran From edge to edge of the sky. . . . n6o3 But, ah, I shall speak once more with a ship • A great, wide-sailed, down-bearing ship Ere I take my doom and die, — And I shall know one large embrace As I meet a comrade face to face While she comes at a stately, star-lit pace Over the moon-calm sea, — Surprising her with the sudden drift And the ancient, loving, weed-grown lift Of this poor old body of me. . . . Oh, ever I dream of the tread of feet And the sound of the bo'sun's whistle sweet And so I am glad, I am glad to greet The unwary ships that pass, — Though they come on me like the hiss of hail That rides the top of a grey-maimed gale And tinkle like breaking glass; For to me they are love, to me they are life And a long-sought woman taken to wife After courtship's dallying strife, — Alas, that they sink in the sea! But 'tis the fault of the ghosts that steer, Not mine, that they are cloven sheer, By the high, gaunt sides of me! n6i3 Drifting, drifting here with the tide While the seams that the sea-weeds caulk gape wide I wait, I wait for the full broadside Of the wave that will bring my doom When I'll sink at last, to lurch endlong, Myself a memory and a song, — Asleep in the great, green gloom! 1622 SEASIDE TALKERS PROVINCETOWN, SUMMER OF I917 A HEY drank the bitter, salt wine of the sea, They breathed up drowning bubbles from below While we sat in the storm's red after-glow Discussing Art and Love — and sipping tea. I was a poet, he, an artist; she, A famous actress . . . lightly to and fro We shuttled epigrams as salesmen show Rich silks that change in colors momently. And while the fishers clung to planks and spars And rode the huge backs of the waves, we sat Beneath a young night full of summer stars: And we discussed of life this way and that Until we felt, when we arose for bed. That there was nothing left had not been said. 163 1 SAID THE CAPTAIN TO ME N( lOTHING but damn fools sail the sea," Said the Captain to me. "I have a young son," says the Captain to me, "I'm damned if he ever shall sail the sea!" 1:643 THEN Wi HEN all the sea's high ships Have dropped beyond my sky And life's trumpet leaves my lips And women pass me by — Dear God, let me die! C6s3 THE BEACH COMBER I 'D like to return to the world again, To the dutiful, work-a-day world of men, — For I'm sick of the beach-comber's lazy lot. Of the one volcano flaming hot, With the snow round its edge and the fire in its throat. And this tropical island that seems a-float Like a world set in space all alone in the sea. . . . How I wish that a ship, it would stop for me. I'm sick of the brown girl that loves me, Fm sick Of the cocoanut groves, — you can't take me too quick From this place, though it's rich in all nature can give. . . . For I want to return where it's harder to live. Where men struggle for life, where they work and find sweet Their rest after toil, and the food that they eat. . . . What? A ship's in the offing? . . . dear God, let me hide, — They're in need of a sailor, are waiting the tide To put off? . . . I will hide where the great cliff hangs sheer — Give 'em mangoes and goats, and dont tell *em Vm here! i:663 THE BALLAD OF ENGLISH JOHN, THE BUCCANEER I DIDN'T think that I'd be caught, But, midway in the fight, A score of Spaniards bore me down And covered me from sight, — Then, on my feet, I found my arms Drawn backward, bound and tight. They dragged me down below in chains. They feared to set me free; I lay there in the drip and slime And listened to the sea; They gave me bread I couldn't eat, And rats ran over me. I dreamed, to wake — and dream again Of wild, free ocean ways, — My life grew big before me like A spark that makes a blaze. . . . We seemed to sail for endless nights And weary, endless days. At last, "get up, you Englishman," I heard ... a torch flared red. . . . One booted at my rattling ribs, One bashed me in the head. . . . "My friends, I hope we meet in hell," Were all the words I said. 1:673 They rode me inland to Madrid A-rolling in a cart; They threw me out and broke my arm That couldn't break my heart, — And I sat up and cursed all Spain In bower and hall and mart. They dragged me to a scaffold, next; Though ended now my play, Yet, in my final scene of life, I stood up in the day: I kicked the hangman, laughed at death. Which made the ladies gay: The ladies whispered, "it's a shame," (Each fluttering her fan) "Aye, it's a shame his Hfe must fall Beneath the hangman's ban!" And each one thought within her heart I was a proper man. 1:68 3 A CARIBBEAN FANTASY OAILING the Caribbean Main In the latter days of Spain Through amber deeps I could behold Great galleons bright with sunken gold. My boat, of quaintest mother-of-pearl, Was steered by my brown Indian girl. We saw ships with their rigging down Go limping to Havanna Town, Beaten and faint from English stour In the red wane of Spain's last power, — Ships under blue and purple sails And weighted down with spicy bales. I looked on them and "Love," quoth I, "What profits it to do and die.? — Better to dream with an Indian Girl In a ship of pearl, on a sea of pearl." n693 BUCCANEER DAYS Ti HERE were a host of galleons in the wild sea days of yore Whose spacious holds were heavy-wombed with tons of sunny ore. Their ammirals, primal-hearted men, who cut men's throats with tears, Wore rainbow sashes round their loins and gold rings in their ears, And for the English buccaneers they kept a weather eye As the gaunt and savage wolf holds watch for the eagle from the sky. Oh brave Sir Walter Raleigh, he who crushed the Spanish power, The Great Queen kissed him at the Court and killed him in the Tower, The captains and the ammirals, some strangled 'neath the foam. And some were buried with acclaim and elegy at home. Above their final dwelling place a visored figure lies With pious Latin epitaph and hands crossed Christianwise. The fleet ships, having known their times, rotted in bight and bay, Or at the bottom of the sea — and naught remains today Of the first great youth of England and the haughty prime of Spain But a broken bolt, a blunderbuss, and a grin- ning skull or twain. CyO GHOST-SONG OF THE SPANISH BUCCANEERS Wi E are the Spanish Buccaneers, none braver ever died, — We waded through five hells of sand with nothing but our pride, Our Spanish pride and our lust for gold and nothing else beside. Oh, ever our fevered nights were hung with strange new stars a-swim As we mixed barbaric litanies with credo and with hymn. While every morn an alien dawn flared up the desert's rim. . . . One noon we glimpsed a shining lake that silver- lit the plain; But trees grew nigh it upside-down, then right- side-up again, — And we knew it was the Devil's lie, and prayed to God for rain; And once we saw a fleet of ships that sailed along the sand Where a sea that never was, broke white on a dim, dissolving strand, — And we prayed to Christ, as children do, and trudged on hand in hand. . . . 1:723 Oh, ever the Cities of Cibola, we saw them in our sleep: Their climbing tops sat in the sky like clouds piled heap on heap, And we laughed apart like madmen, each with his own dream to keep. ... And, though we never got to them, but, one by one, sank down. The Seven Cities of Cibola belie not their renown. But, somewhere, yet, they wait our quest, each star-encircled town! 1:73: Ti WHEN THRAN WAS KING VIKING SONG In memory of Theodore Roosevelt HERE was never rust on the oarlocks When Thran was king; Our ships were as swift as swallows On dipping wing; There was never rust on the spearhead Nor on the sword When Thran, that mighty viking, Was over-lord. How we shouted at the oar-sweeps As down the day Our beaked prows clove asunder Their foamy way. . . . Multitudinous as armies That bivouac wide The stars they camped about us, And the great tide Was powdered golden with them Till we beheld That naught was true but Magic And, wonder-spelled, We knew Romance was greater Than Fact can say As the dawn set us, golden, In golden day. ... 1:743 Oh, there were lands to greet us Fringed round with foam That almost slew forever All thoughts of home; Oh, there were copper women In isles sun-trod Who bent down low before us, Each man, a god; And there were ancient cities That loomed alone Each shining tower a ruby, A gem, each stone. . . . Yea, we've come back to Norland, Now Thran has died. To men who love their bellies And naught beside. Who think that we are children And smile askance, Daring not drink the vintage Of High Romance. . . . Aye, fat smoke wreathes the cottage; There's much to eat: You've full grain from the harvest, You've good red meat — But, though you call us madmen, We'll ever sing Of the great years of wonder When Thran was king! 1:753 THERE WAS A LITTLE QUEEN IN EGYPT T. GALLEY-SLAVE CHANTEY Sung at the Oars HERE was a little Queen in Egypt, (Long, a very long time ago) — Fell in love v^ith a Roman Captain; (It's chill and bleak, but the v^ind must blov^). She had a thousand girls to serve her; (We've left the jettied port behind) The weight of all her rubies tired her, (But when were chains of iron kind?) They cooked ten wild boars for her dinner, (Bring on, bring on your mouldy bread) And brought them in on golden platters, (Yo ho! the open sea's ahead!) Her slaves played all night long on zithers, (And we must row and row till dawn) And She and her Captain loafed in purple, (And we've but tattered loin-clothes on). Wine red and white it flowed like rivers. . . . (And it's brackish water we get to drink) The world was a tossed-up ball between 'em, (These long nights make a fellow think). n763 They say they tossed the ball and they lost it, (The stars will be coming pretty soon) That now they lie on a windy headland, ( — Wish that was the sun instead of the moon). They say that they sleep and sleep forever, (While we pull hard in the wind and Wet), Laid forever away in the darkness, (And it's precious little sleep we get) — Side by side in the empty silence — O Queen of Egypt, O Captain-King, We, slaves, and chained to our oars, salute you! God was good and you had your fling! C773 THE CHANTEY OF NOAH AND HIS ARK Old Father Noah, he built him an ark. . . Roofed it over with hickory bark 0^ OLD SCHOOL SONG 'H, Noah went up to the hills, a just man and a good, (Yo ho, lads, the rain must fall), He built an Ark, the Good Book says, of pitch and gopher wood; (And the water, it tumbles over all). The children danced before him, and the Grown- ups laughed, behind; They thought that there was something wrong with Goodman's Noah's mind. . . . And when they met him coming back for needments and supplies, The dancing girls and dancing men leered, mocking, in his eyes, — And as he left the town once more and sought the hillward track, The boys sent shouts and whistles shrill behind the old man's back. Oh, Noah took the animals and saved them, two by two; The elephant, the leopard, and the zebra, and the gnu, 1:783 The goose, the ox, the Hon, and the stately unicorn That breasted up the gangway with his single, jaunty horn. The hipporgriff, the oryx, — all created things, in fine. Till the dim procession straggled from the far horizon line. There was neighing, squealing, barking, there was many a snort and squeak. Every sound that God gives animals because they cannot speak; And they waddled and they straddled, and they ambled, and they ran. And they crawled and traipsed and sidled, each one after nature's plan. There was pattering of hooves and toes and lift of hairy knees — Oh, it was the greatest cattleboat that ever sailed the seas. . . . There was never any showman ever gave such a parade As those beasts, that wended arkward, for the gaping people made; And Noah's townsmen wished him well who once had wished him ill — For they hoped he planned a circus on his solitary hill Where he'd charge so much admission at the ark's red-postered door — Offering such a show as mankind never set eyes on before. . . . 1:793 But the sky grew dark with thunder throbbing like an angry drum And the gazers saw with terror that the thing they'd mocked had come, And that what had seemed a circus marching slowly in parade Was the end of all creation and the world's last cavalcade. Ohj the lightning dangled nearer like a madman's rattling chain. . . . As an army moves to battle came the growing sound of rain: And it rained . . . and rained . . . and rained . . . and rained ... as we do understand, Till the earth was filled with water and there wasn't any land! Oh, NOAH WAS A JUST MAN, A JUST MAN AND A GOOD. . . . (yO ho, LADS, THE RAIN MUST FALL) HE BUILT THE ARK, THE GOOD BOOK SAYS, OF PITCH AND GOPHER WOOD, (and THE WATER, IT TUMBLED OVER ALL). cso;] WHEN HAM AND SHEM AND JAPHET- W. A SAILOR S SONG HEN Ham and Shem and Japhet They walked the capstan round Upon the strangest vessel Was ever outward bound, The music of their voices From wave to welkin rang: They sang the first sea-chantey That seamen ever sang: They sang of towns they'd been to, Of girls that they had known. Of what they'd done as children, Of how the years had flown, Of fights they'd had, and friendships. Of many a hearty spree — The same as every sailor That sails upon the sea. ... Now Noah, he was sitting Alone and glum, below, A-puzzling just a little Why things were ordered so, (For, though his soul accepted What God commanded, still, At times he knew misgivings As every good man will) — CSO When up above he heard them A-singing, outward bound, And walking, walking, walking, Walking the capstan round, — Then, just as quick, his worry. Passed, Hke a gust of wind. And he shinned up the ladder And left his doubts behind, And, with his great beard flowing. His grey robe pulled a-skew, He walked the capstan with them: He started singing, too! 1:823 THE CHANTEY OF JONAH A HEY'D amulets and written charms, they'd little gods of stone, And teraphim of ivory and wood and polished bone; They'd images of ebony and images of jade That swarthy seamen worshipped, following the Tarshish trade; The Captain's god was Merodach, all wrought of beaten gold, And richer than the merchandise they treasured in the hold The First Mate held his silver Baal ... a polished stick of wood The ring-eared Ethiopian owned, and swore it did him good, — And twice a day they knelt to pray and knock their heads and groan Before their gold and ivory, their silver, wood, and stone. The sea was like a shield of blue to the horizon's rim As forth they put from Joppa with their gods and teraphim, — With that one bearded man aboard who down the gangway trod So swift in haste for Tarshish he forgot to bring his god. . . . 1:833 "By Merodach," the Captain swore, who walked the deck alone, "He hasn't even got a god of common wood or stone!" "Now by my silver Baal," swore the Mate, "he's bold, to go Without a god to kneel before when storms be- gin to blow!" . . . The savage black man pitied him in case a wind should rise And wash the hissing waters up against be- leaguered skies; But Jonah laughed and went below, when he was snug aboard. Assured that he'd out-sped, at last, the Presence of The Lord: What though the doom of Nineveh hung dark upon the air, He cast the prophet's robe aside, and slept, and did not care. Then God sent forth a wind to sea to search His Prophet out: The tackles creaked, the oars were shipped, the seamen clumped about; The waves, that flashed like lire abaft and tumbled with a roar. Were crowding on the deck in heaps and coming more and more; 1:84a Their curling tops were lifted sheer and pelted through the air. . . . And then the Wind sped back to God, and said, "Thy Man is there!" And God sent forth another wind, a greater Wind by far, That twisted like a twig of tree both sturdy mast and spar, — And THAT wind came, and said to Him, "Thy Man indeed is blind That thinks, by going down to sea, he's left Thee, Lord, behind!" "Oh, yet a little while," quoth God, "and he shall ponder well The Shadow of my Hand spreads black above the Red of Hell, The Shadow of my Hand is cast on utmost wastes of sea. And even huge Leviathan before my wrath must flee, — And there is nothing lives at all without the aid of Me!" The Negro knelt before his Stick and prayed with clicking tongue. Each man unwrapped his little god and to its succour clung — (Each Httle god of ebony, and jade, and wood, and stone, CSS 3 Each image made of ivory, and shaped of poHshed bone) In vain the Mate made oaths to Baal, in vain the Captain told Of what an altar he would build to please his god of gold; The water flew up in his face as sharp as winter sleet ; It made a noise of trampling like a hundred thousand feet. . . . "Has every shipman bowed his head? Is every god implored?" "Nay, yet there bides that bearded man that came in haste aboard." "Oh, stranger, rise and lift your eyes, and if you have a god. Cry out to him to smite the waves down level with his rod; We've even had the Nigger's Stick to listen to our prayer!" ... Then Jonah lifted up his eyes and saw that God was there — Then Jonah rose and answered back, "I brought no god with me. For who can wrap in cloth the One who made the sky and sea: I could not tuck Him in my sleeve whose mighty Hand has made The sun that is a shining thing and gives each tree its shade, — i:863 Whose thumb and finger, reaching out, hide all the stars in day. . . . And yet, when He commanded me, I thought to run away." Then, in the darkness of the storm that made the mid-day dim. The men cast lots, one after one, until it fell on him: And Jonah rose and spoke to them to cast him overboard Unto the easing of the storm, the proving of the Lord — And when they'd cast him overboard a great voice whispered "Cease!" And, league on league, the mighty waves fell flat in shining peace. . . . The negro, he was first to rise and take his polished wood And send it flying overboard to float along the flood, A sea-gull perching on it . . . then the men of Tarshish Trade Took all their little images of ivory and jade. Took all their helpless little gods of jacinth, bronze, and bone, — Took quaint-legged, ugly, squatting things of wood and polished stone. And flung them, scorning, in the sea, — and, as they bubbled down. One cried, "come back, if ye be gods, — and, if ye be not, drown!" ... 1:873 The Mate flung forth his silver god his fathers loved of old, And from their Captain's fist there sped a flying thing of gold, — And, men from all the coigns of earth, they bent the knee aboard To the Mercy and the Majesty, the Glory of the Lord! 1188 3 HESPERIDES B] BEYOND the blue rim of the world, Washed round with languid-lapsing seas, Where the Wind's wings were ever furled The Ancients dreamed Hesperides. Ship after ship each age sent forth To find the Islands Of the Blest; The loosed winds drove them south and north. But west they weathered, ever west. Sky after sky they dropped behind, Those mighty-handed, bearded men, Till, seeking what they could not find. They rounded upward, home again. A desultory waif of time Flying adventure from my mast, 'Twas thus I voyaged every clime To come back to myself at last! 1:893 RECOLLECTION A BALLADE OF FORMER TRAMP-DAYS T. HE cars lay on a siding through the night; The scattered yard lamps winked in green and red; I slept upon bare boards with small delight, — My pillow, my two shoes beneath my head; As hard as my own conscience was my bed; I lay and listened to my own blood flow; "*" Outside, I heard the thunder come and go And glimpsed the golden squares of passing trains. Or felt the cumbrous freight train rumbling slow; And yet that life was sweet for all its pains. Against the tramp the laws are always right, So often in a cell I broke my bread Where bar on bar went black across my sight; On county road or rockpile ill I sped Leg chained to leg like man to woman wed, My wage for daily toil an oath, a blow; I cursed my days that they were ordered so; I damned my vagrant heart and dreaming brains That thrust me down among the Mean and Low — And yet that life was sweet for all its pains. 1:90a I crept with lice that stayed and stayed for spite; I froze in "jungles" more than can be said; Dogs tore my clothes, and in a woeful plight At many a back door for my food I pled Until I wished to God that I was dead. . . . My shoes broke through and showed an out- burst toe; On every side the world was all my foe, Threatening me with jibe and jeer and chains, Hard benches, cells, and woe on endless woe — And yet that life was sweet for all its pains. Brighter, in fine, than anything I know Like sunset on a distant sea a-glow My curious memory alone maintains / The richer worth beneath the wretched show Of vagrant life still sweet for all its pains. CqO I'VE DECKED THE TOPS I 'VE decked the tops of flying cars That leaped across the night; The long and level coaches skimmed Low, like a swallow's flight. Close to the sleet-bit blinds I've clung Rocking on and on; All night I've crouched in empty cars That rode into the dawn, Seeing the ravelled edge of life In jails, on rolling freights And learning rough and ready ways From rough and ready mates. CgO I JAIL, A TRAMP RHYTHM N the chill, grey drip of a winter morn They dragged us off to jail. The young moon tipped her ghostly horn Where a patch of mist grew pale. ... Closer our ragged coats we drew, Though it was in the South. ... The Sheriff had one eye 'stead of two And a cruel twist to his mouth. . . . The Yard was full of shadowy cars. . . . A distant whistle screamed. . . . Switch-lights glimmered like scattered stars. . , , An engine clanked and steamed. ... Dusk cars, dim-bodied, looming shapes. Stood ranged in a huddled line. . . . In soft release the air escapes; A lantern lifts, a-shine. . . . It lifts and falls . . . the cinders crunch. . . . A brakeman passes near ... Then the cars jerk and roar and plunge Like herds that move with fear. ... And so they led us off to jail Upon that winter morn When the young moon made the dusk grow pale With the fire of its fading horn. 1:933 AUTOBIOGRAPHY M .Y father was a dark-complected man Who in a moment's joy my Ufe began: Before him my old and erect grandsire Burned through, Hke him, with madness and a fire. And I am surely kinsman to their clan. I always loathed the four walls of a room. And the glad summer varying sun and gloom I revelled in, — I loved to sprawl in grass And watch the footless wind-gusts dip and pass In fields of wheat, on uplands bright with bloom; And where the twinkling waters of the sea Washed outward into blue immensity And then came thundering shoreward sky- outpoured As if they fled in terror from the Lord, I raced the sands in naked ecstasy. 1:943 BALLADE OF COMPLAINT AGAINST THE VAGRANT LIFE I SICKEN of the campfire's glow Which turns a ghost before the day; The leaf that dawdles to and fro Soon changes green for graveyard grey Though for a while it lift and play Clothed like a king in gold and red. . . . Cast into jails, unhoused, half-fed, How can I climb (though I be fain Of stars that beckon overhead), To heights the master minds attain ? The moving seas where great winds blow I love indeed — yet I gainsay Those slant-stacked ships that smoking go And leave behind a foamy way A bull-necked captain to obey Or mate who leaves no curse unsaid — Such is the life by seamen led Despite the dreams romancers feign; And who can climb, with heart of dread. To heights the master minds attain? The burnt-out lamp that gutters low Casts on a songless page its ray. Nor can the poet, drawn with woe. To penury and want a prey, In his cold attic build that lay n953 That lives when he who sang is dead; A thousand worries throng, instead, The gloomy twilight of his brain. . . . How can one rise, sore-pinched for bread, To heights the master minds attain? Thus I, to mighty visions wed. Drop twenty shafts before they're sped, Shoot twenty more that fly in vain. . . , Nor may I climb, though greatly led. To heights the master minds attain. 1:963 THE SCARECROW WOMAN SOUTHAMPTON JAIL, ENGLAND JT^OOR Scarecrow Woman, worn and marred, Unhymned as yet by any bard — No limb but what is hung askew, No joint but what the bone shines through; Broken by need and greed and lust; With shambHng foot and flattened bust. Removed from beauty or the saints, — You are the thing no artist paints! What brought you down so low as this From all that men feign woman is. What hidden shame or dreadful chance From all that poets deem romance? Yet, whether born, or brought to be This crawling thing of misery. You shall not go unsung to death With rheumy eyes and wheezy breath — ril force my loathing Muse to sing Your fame, at last, poor scarecrow thing! 1:973 THE CALL O] 'H, Duty is bare and the sark of Care is ragged and thin and old; I will cast her aside and take for my bride a Muse in a cloth of gold. I have heard the call of the wind-swept pine and there bides no rest for me; My soul is drenched with clear starshine and drunk with the wine of the sea. What care I now for the broken vow and the word by the deed gainsaid.? Ere the night was torn with the sun, new-born, my life to my fate was wed. I am going South to a bayou-mouth where quiet forever reigns, Where the migrant flight of the geese by night and the sober-stalking cranes And the stars that creep o'er the Crystal Deep in the course of the Southern night Not yet complain of the lesser Cain who comes with his gun to smite. There the long low moan of the ocean's tone as it rides on the wind from far Doth make one think that he stands on the brink of a sea on another star, n983 Not here where men, again and again, in a treadmill, day by day, Go 'round and 'round in a narrow bound and labour their joy away. Ere my heart grow sad and the joy I've had fade out and die like a dream, And my soul peak thin mid the hurry and din and the noise of hammers and steam, (For the Bought and the Sold be the getting of gold), I will leave the City behind. And my soul shall be as wide and free as a heaven-searching wind. Persuade me not for a passion hot and a wild, wind-drifted cry Sweeps over me like the tides of the sea — I must go or my soul will die. I have heard the call of the wind-swept pine and there bides no rest for me. My soul is drunk with clear starshine and drenched with the wine of the sea, And Duty is bare and the sark of Care is ragged and thin and old — I will cast her aside and take for a bride a Muse in a cloth of gold. 1:993 RIDING BY NIGHT X HE great-wheeled, twi-domed engine waits Expectant, for the signal to depart; The fireman opens wide the furnace door And bares the fire's red heart; Then the conductor's lantern lifts and falls. And, down the car-thronged yards the coaches glide. And, leaping like a runner to the race, We gain the countryside. Out at the window into night I peer While the bright coaches hurtle through the gloom Like some swift meteor with a shining tail Which rushes to its doom. A thousand darkling fields and woods sweep past; IniPrequent blurs of light go trailing by, And here and there a single farmhouse shows A pale and single eye. C ioo3 THE RETURN L HID behind a side-tracked car until there echoed clear As a signal of the starting, two sharp whistles on my ear, Then, with a long, laborious groan the freight got under way And ponderous cars went hulking by like ele- phants at play. I gripped an iron rung and swung aboard with flapping coat. The engine sent a wailing dirge from its deep iron throat And vanished in a Cut which gaped, a brown gash, new and raw; One either side the jagged rocks, like the broken teeth of a saw Leaped up and down with naked poles and racing strands of wire. . . . Then, flash! the engine reached the plain as a cannon belches fire. Wrapped in a cloud of rolHng smoke. As on and on we flew The panoramaof the fields went shifting out of view. A scared thrush shot up from a bush and sought the open sky; A herd of cattle raised their heads and stared rebukingly; C1013 Above a marching clump of trees a wind-mill spun its wheel, And from a bank of toppling cloud there crashed a thunder-peal. The sun went down, the stars came out, I crouched upon the coal Feeling as if I had been made a lone, unbodied soul: Chance with great hands might crumple me like any gossamer thing. Might o'er the ramparts of the Flesh my startled spirit fling Where a scattered silver dust of worlds stream down through endless night As sun-motes in a darkened room dance down a shaft of light. . . . Now, like gigantic fireflies clustered on a Malay tree. The lamps of the division-end across the dark I see. . . . Dim boxcars huddle everywhere ... I laugh as I alight. For, safe and sound in life and limb, I'm home again tonight! C1023 EXPERIENCE I N the north where leagues of forest sag be- neath the plumey snow, I've worked with lurching-shouldered lumber- men; I've seen the small, grey fishing fleets beat out with lifting bow Toward the stormy coasts of Labrador again; I've plucked the purple-swollen grape beside the Great Blue Lake, And gathered pungent hops from off the vine; I have watched the water swirling in the clumsy ore-boat's wake. Laden down with dusty riches from the mine; I've seen the mad steer plunge and fall beneath the sledge's stroke In packing houses by the turbid Kaw; I have rotted three long months in a steel- barred southern jail And known the bitter irony of Law; I have fed the myriad-headed grain into the toothed machine Which tramples loud with wild, interior feet; I have seen the Kansas plains carpeted with soft young corn And garmented with glory of the wheat; 1 103 2 I have camped in California by the shoreward- heaving sea, And I've walked Manhattan's pavements all night long — But the lives I've lived and suffered paid me more than poverty: They paid me in the golden coin of song; They paid me in Song's golden coin . . . those days were never lost. If I had died a hundred deaths it well were worth the cost; For I beheld America — Her sunrise kissed my brow, — I learned to sing the miracle of living here and now! n 1043 A TRAMP'S PRAYER VjREAT Spirit, when I soar away Beyond the confines of this Day, And sing because my earth-life's done, And gaze back at the lessening sun; I pray that thou wilt make me free To roam through all infinity Where comets roar with maddened hair While the stars turn pale and stare Like huddled herds of frightened sheep - Else, give me. Lord, eternal sleep: I do not care in heaven to bide Forever by The Bridegroom's side. Clos: THE WILD BIRD I T'S good to be the wild bird To pierce horizons a-far. To hurl through night and sunlight As sure as the flight of a star, To pour down out of heaven As sheep pour out of a fold Where lone lakes lie in the sunset A-ripple with fluctuant gold, — To dive and cry and scurry And shift in a joyous fleet Where the sudden-pattering rainstorm Roars by on a million feet! 1:106 3 MARCH NIGHT T, HE vistaed concaves of infinity Star-vast, and archipelagoed with suns, And gulfed with stellar space — the luminous banks Of the gigantic, straggling Milky Way, The moon that takes the huge world at one glance, Give me a winging sense of stars and space, — Dim-bodied shapes of unimagined Dream Beat round me with a multitude of wings; Eternity *s presence overshadows me, And I reach out toward everlastingness. . . . But now the moon's a ghost in silver mail, As, blowing through a storm of stars, the earth Dips downward into dawn, deluged with light — Sunlight which is the golden laugh of God I The naked trees, — gaunt, sullen limbs a-creak — That shivered half alive in the rushing air Of Winter, dream of greenness and are glad; The marching armies of the snow have gone; White blossoms soon will rain from windy boughs; All Nature's little gentle things will wake. And earth will grow a Wonder to the sky! do? 3 LET ME BE STILL LIFE'S FOOL I HATE the wisdom of the Wise That think first of the rule Before they plunge into the deed — Let me be still life's fool. . . . For every glow the soul attains Is worth the exacted price, And from the buds of impulse spring The fruits of paradise! 1:108 3 GO TELL THE LYING WORLD VjrO tell the lying world that Indolence Is not a siren sitting on white bones, But the sweet nurse of fancy and romance, Mother of song and every starry art, — Go tell the world that we have found her so We, who weave wonder for the ears of men, And, through all ages, beauty for men's eyes. C109!] GOD'S BACCHANTE X HE rain rushed, grey and solid. At window, wall, and door, — It crashed across the housetops Like waves that lift and roar. It danced to drums of thunder, It leaped along the plain. It raced upon the hilltops — God's Great Bacchante, Rain! niio3 STAR-FACTS A O think that we dwell on a star And poise in the infinite sky While all about us, a-far, Systems and sun-drifts ply! To think that we balance in space Like an irised bubble in air Where comets flash and race With thunder in their hair! Cm 3 MIDNIGHT VjrREAT and vast as is the sea, Its bounds are pettiness to me Compared with this infinity Which fetches compasses unknown Where unnumbered worlds are strown Through awful vastitudes star-sown. Hence gain I that which makes me strong, Hence draw my starry urns of song, Hence get, half-felt, half-seen, half-heard. The spirit that exalts the word. C1123 TRANSMUTATION INCE bit by bit I've died so long, I think I shall not mind When picks and spades have delved for me A hole that's close and blind. I died a little when a friend Unheeding, passed me by. And when a woman that I loved Revealed her love a lie; I died a little when I stooped To a revengeful score — Yet, as I've died, so I've been born Each day a little more. . . . With every glimpse of loveliness I am the more re-born. With every laugh, with every kiss, With every shining morn! ... So, one day, when they think me dead. The truth of truths will be That I've just walked out through a door To immortality! 1:113:1 RAIN-SADNESS Ti HE fowls seek shelter, and the eaves Drip-drip with melancholy rain — I wonder why it makes me think Of times which will not come again And of great men who lived in vain ? 1:1143 MOON-DAWN TO R. W. Ti HERE are more dawns than the one Uprising of the sun. There is a moon-dawn whose soft-flooding light Makes a nocturnal day of night. The whippoorwill's the moon-dawn's lark, he sings, The immitigable passion of dumb things: In shadowy woods a thousand night-things cry, Unnumbered meadows lute in large reply. tiiSl THE CRY OF MAN T. HERE is a crying in my heart That never will be still, Like the voice of a lonely bird Behind a starry hill; There is a crying in my heart For what I may not know — An infinite crying of desire Because my feet are slow. . . . My feet are slow, my eyes are blind. My hands are weak to hold: It is the universe I seek, All life I would enfold! Cii63 TOWARDS DAWN Ti HE night verged slowly into dawn: I waked while others slept, Till through the shutters closely drawn The infinite daylight crept; I could not keep the morning out, — Through every chink it came; It poured its growing beams about My lamp's decaying flame; And when I left my written words The sun was at my door: I never knew so many birds Lived in the trees before. nii73 WHY? W HY, when I pass through moving faces Comes to me Visions of beauty no man knows of, None can see? And, in the midst of the long day's traffic, O'er and o'er Why must I dream of a surf a-thunder On an aHen shore? Ciis] T> BLIND CUMBERLAND MARKET, LONDON HE Spring blew trumpets of color; Her green sang in my brain. . . . I heard a blind man groping "Tap-tap" with his cane; I pitied him his blindness; But can I boast, "I see?" Perhaps there walks a spirit Close by, who pities me, — A spirit who hears me tapping The five-sensed cane of mind Amid such unguessed glories That I am worse than blind! nii93 R. AUTUMN TWILIGHT TO C. B. Cornwall Bridge, Connecticut JCH afterglows of Autumn Fill all the world with light And elm and oak and maple Loom up like fire in flight, And golden is the valley, And golden is the hill, And golden is the first star At twilight's window-sill. C i2o;3 THE WIND'S LIFE J. LOVE the silver-shaken, The windy tops of trees That heave and Hft in sequence, Like running surf of seas, With swathes of changing purples And vistas golden-deep Where, for an unstirred moment, The sunHght lies asleep. Cl2l3 LIGHTNING A RUSH of lightning reddened The dense, black, roaring rain; The night leaped into daylight Then back to night again. And Hke one hurt in battle When blows fall hot and blind, The great oak trembled, tottered, And leaned against the wind. Then, with a sudden thunder, Its cloudy head lay low — Its thousand years were scattered To nothing, at one blow. C122II THE DAWN Ti HERE is a pool for every star To shine upon. But all the waters of the world Await the dawn. C1233 WONDER A SEA that foams against untrodden sands; A voyaged ship with high, sky-moving spars; A casement opened by pale hidden hands; A hill lost in a multitude of stars. C1243 TRANSIT GLORIA T( OWARD yon star-cluster in vast Hercules Our sun with all its worlds drops down the sky, For, banked in shining heaps, the great suns fly Onward in fiery swarms like golden bees. While from all sides the everlasting seas Of night break on them as they thunder by. . . . And ignorant generations live and die Amid this storm of stars, and feel at ease. Ci2s3 TO ONE WHO SAID HE WAS BORED WITH LIFE I T bores you, then, to live and die Upon this cloud-scarfed ball That drops from space to space of sky In one eternal fall? With the great heavens drawn above. Beneath, the wondrous earth, How strange is life, how strange is love. And death, that walks with birth. . . O, when I die, say I lived ill, Say that my days were poured Like wasted wine, say all you will, But never, "Kemp was bored." ni26 3 EXUBERANCE vJlVE me those people who will shout, Sometimes, and wave their arms about; Folk who will swear, and laugh, and cry. Nor shape their conduct to another's eye: How I've grown sick of the Polite Whose only care is how to do things right! 1:1273 THE HUMMING BIRD Ti HE sunlight speaks and its voice is a bird: It glimmers half-guessed, half-seen, half-heard, Above the flowerbed, over the lawn . . . A flashing dip, and it is gone. And all it lends to the eye is this — A sunbeam giving the air a kiss. CI28 3 TELL ALL THE WORLD Ti ELL all the world that summer's here agam With song and joy; tell them, that they may know How, on the hillside, in the shining fields New clumps of violets and daisies grow. Tell all the world that summer's here again. That white clouds voyage through a sky so still With blue tranquillity, it seems to hang One windless tapestry, from hill to hill. Tell all the world that summer's here again: Folk go about so solemnly and slow, Walking each one his grooved and ordered way — I fear that, otherwise thev will not know! C1293 WIND-MAGIC Ti HE wind sweeps over the corn, The wind sweeps over my heart, It lifts me up and it blows My soul and body apart; And I run, I run by its side In bodiless liberty — I touch the tops of the trees. And dapple and darken the sea; I rush through populous streets, I eddy through glade and glen — And now the wind dies down. And I am my body again. ni3o3 THE CHANTEY OF THE GALILEAN FISHERMEN VV HILE the hills of Galilee hung as in a sea of glass, Peter, Andrew, James, and John, when they saw the Dreamer pass, With the clouts that they had on, left their nets* live, tangled mass — Left the fishes where they lay, seething silver, on the sand. Zebedee in vain, in vain raised his clenched, protesting hand, Captain of the fisher-fleet, twelve brown sails at his command. Thrice the Man had talked with them at the quiet edge of day. Where his dozen, sail-stripped masts, rocking slow, at anchor lay. But he'd never even dreamed He would lure his sons away John was he who sang so well when the battling nets they drew; Peter'd hook leviathan just to fetch a nearer view; James could row, and Andrew mend — four, the best men of his crew! "O, my sons, what fools you are," cried their father Zebedee, "To go running off like this — when you're sure of work with me — With a Man who boasts a ship on a far, un- travelled sea!" "Yes, you're fools," a gossip said, "fools to leave your father so — Leave the ships you've learned to sail and the nets you've learned to throw, On the word a Stranger gives of a Way you do not know." "Oh," said Peter, "we don't care to what un- known port we sail. When all other craft lie deep, whelmed in foam from rail to rail. Captain swears no better ship ever keeled along the gale." "Oh, the ship that waits for us," it was gentle Andrew said, "It will weather any storm. Captain says, that ship bestead, Though the stars stoop down and whirl by the Hfted mainmast head." C 1323 "Oh, we've signed on, father dear, with a greater Shipman now, For to cast a world-wide net from a starry vessel's prow," Spoke up John, while sunset lay like a halo on his brow. James said nothing, only laughed, the Adventure in his face. They departed as the stars lit illimitable space. All the neighbours said such sons were a scandal and disgrace. C1333 CHANT OF THE WIDOW'S MITE Li JSTEN to the trumpets blowing before The pharisee deep in the Talmud's lore Proclaiming his generous gifts to the Lord With the sky itself as his sounding board. Behold the scribe with his pompous face Saluting his friends in the market place. See how the strutting rich man comes The lord of vineyards and silks and sums. Behold the king in his chariot ride Surrounded by spears on every side. . . . But the widow, the widow comes last of all And she lets the mites in the coin-box fall So hardly spared from her little hoard — Unseen of men, but seen of the Lord! Who gives from his utmost need shall gain What the poor earth's measure cannot contain. . . . The king and all his hosts go by. The Pharisee's trumpets hush their cry. The scribe sees death as all men must, And the rich man's wealth grows less than dust: But out of the widow's humble deed There grows, like the Scriptural mustard seed, Mercy and pity and love's increase To wax till the world itself shall cease. 1:1343 THE GOING OF HIS FEET JlJLIS feet went here and there About the common earth. He touched to grandeur all Men held of little worth. He loved the growing flowers, The small bright singing birds, The patient flocks of sheep, The many-pastured herds, The field of rippling corn That shimmered in the sun. The soft blue smoke of eve That curled when day was done. . He did not search a-far For what He had to say: His mind reached forth and drew Its strength from every day: The struggling nets, alive With fish drawn from the sea Supplied Him with the apt And chosen simile. . . . das 3 He saw a neighbour build A house that did not stand — And men may not forget The House Upon The Sand; He saw a widow drop Her mite into the hoard — And to eternity That treasure is up-stored; He heard a publican Who thought none other there - The souls of all mankind Are richer for that prayer. . . . O, Poet of The World, I pray Thee, come to m,e. That my lame heart might walk, That my dark soul may see; And teach me, too, to go About the ways of earth And find the Wealth of God In things of Httle worth! ni36 3 LAZARUS SPEAKS /AZARUS, come forth!" The Great Compeller spoke, Then, earthquake-rent, the grave-mouth heaved and broke, And vomited forth, and pushed out, as with hands, A reeHng thing wrapped round in rotten bands. . . . "Why didst thou call me forth?' moaned Lazarus, "Why hast thou dragged my soul back earth- ward, thus? Why didst thou waken me from out death's deep And sweet oblivion, sweeter far than sleep? What have I done to merit this? . . . Now I A second time must die! Oh, Mighty Lord, how can I shake from me Those once-touched edges of eternity? — Now, as I walk the narrow village street. Mine ears will hear all mouths repeat, 'There goes the Twice-born; him Jehovah led Twice into Hfe — behold The Living Dead!' How can I cleanse me from the sepulchre? Will not about me grave-scents ever stir? Dare I sit down in Life's thronged banquet-room, An odor from the tomb? 1:1373 My mouth, too, thou hast sealed ... I may not tell The things I've learned of Paradise and Hell, And unto me the reverend Wise will come Across the deserts both of sand and foam To learn of me what men have ever sought — And I must, silent, sit, and tell them naught. The children at the fountain will grow dumb When they behold me come; The wedding guests will hold their laughter gay Till I have slunk my way; Without the door of Joy I'll have to wait Like a foul leper at the city gate; The very birds will cease till I have passed, — And I will be to all an icy blast. Each word I say and every thought I have Will reek with reminiscence of the grave; And I shall live, abhorred, among men — Dear Master, give me back to Death again!" Thus Lazarus spake, when, stunned with sun and bloom. He groped forth, like a blind man, from the tomb Then with that love which storms beyond all speech And floods the soul through every cove and reach, Christ took one groping hand ... he answered naught. . , . But down his cheeks the human tears rained hot. THE ANGEL'S ANTHEM A CHRISTMAS CAROL 1 HERE was music on the hillside and singing in the glen, And anthems heard in meadows when Christ was born to men: The king slept on in blindness, though troubled in his sleep; The high priest's ancient wisdom held no such lore in keep; The trader and the merchant so bound by gain and rule. And all the learned scholars who founded school on school, The consul and the soldiers, their ears were stopped that night, And only to the shepherds the angels brought delight. . . . The shepherds heard the singing that charmed the listening air; The shepherds saw the glory; the shepherds were aware: There was music on the hillside and singing in the glen, And anthems heard in meadows when Christ was born to men! C1393 THE UNREPENTANT THIEF X HE Unrepentant Thief clung to the Cross, BatHke — he held Christ's Paradise no loss: Point him as chief example, if you will, Of darkened souls that perish loving ill, — At least, — struck blind with fear, he did not cower And supplicate for heaven that last hour. c 1403 A RHYME OF TWO WAYFARERS JL WO travellers met in passing, and one was lost in the murk: "Tell me (I come from Nazareth seeking car- penter work) Is this the road to Jerusalem?" "You're somewhat out of the way. A furlong to the left, sire, brings you to Gol- gotha, Then turn along the hillside — a path leads to the street Where three men loom on crosses with nails clenched through the feet." Chi 3 THE PLAYMATE Children Where has he gone, our playmate? We've sought him high and low Where grey-green olives ripen, Where haycocks stand a-row. . . . Elders We saw him passing down the street An hour or so ago! Children Where has he gone, our comrade Who took us by the hand And taught us to build houses With little heaps of sand? Elders He has gone forth to sojourn In a far, foreign land! Children Nay, but he would not leave us Who took us on his knee. And set our fancies sailing Like ships upon the sea. . . . Elders We think that he will never come Again to Galilee! C 1423 A CHANTEY OF GROWING GREEN THINGS And it was said unto them that they should not hurt the grass of the earthy neither any. green thing, neither any tree. — revelations The little green leaves were kind to him. — lanier Y E shall not hurt the grass of the earth That grows so gently on down and hill — When I had nowhere to lay my head The lush green couch of it held me still, And I blessed the softness of the grass And the grateful shade of the wayside tree On the highway to Jerusalem And down the roads of GaHlee. The live oak shadowed me from the sun, The sycamore and the lonely pine Tented me off from the chill of dew In the long night vigils that were mine. There was never a green thing did me hurt Though I suffered much from the ills of men, So I love the lily of the vale, And the little flowers of field and fen; And even that barren fig I cursed I afterward bade it bloom again C 143 3 Till it bore like a tree in paradise. , . . Yea, even the thorns they pressed on me Grew rich with roses budded thick To make their mute apology, And sent a tender green about." The angels bowed in a shining row, And all earth's things of growing green. They heard the master and they bent low: And when Death came to tether Life, Leading it to its great, dark End, The trees and the flowers sang in the dawn For the Lord of All, was He not their friend .? ni44ll THE RHYME OF THE PRODIGAL Y( OU*VE youth and a girl and plenty of gold, what more can your heart desire ? — Did it ever content the heart of youth to sit at home by the fire? I am leaving half my land to you and half of my flocks and herds — And I'd rather shepherd alien sheep and live on whey and curds. Don't go, don't go, my own little son, and leave me all alone — Will you never remember I'm not a child but a youth that's nigh man-grown? Think of your brother, your elder brother, — would you leave him all to bear ? — He's only a brother of mine by birth who seldom speaks me fair, And I've had a dream, a wonderful dream of brothers that wait for me, Men made brethren by perils borne together on land and sea. Think of your mother, your own dear mother, and ponder what is best. — Would you tie me fast to an apron-string and make me a village jest? Your pallet is fine and soft with wool and you sleep in the Upper Room — And I'd liefer be in a fo'c'sle hold where one lamp swings in the gloom, ni45 3 In the fo'c'sle hold of a great-sailed ship that sunders the purple sea. My son, my son, will you break my heart to have your jest with me? — Father, I'm having no jest with you, but I'm earnest to go away; There's something that's gripping the soul of me that will not bide delay; I have dreamed and dreamed for nights of seas that break in alien foam And of magic cities that climb and climb with dome on golden dome And I'd rather be a beggar that crawls along some strange, far street Than living here where I rise each day to sit in the selfsame seat, To look in the face that is always the same at the stale, familiar board. What though the granaries burst with corn and the wine-jar brims to be poured! My lad, I see that you won't be moved, so here is your father's hand, And whenever you tire of ships and ports and yearn for the good home-land. Wearied to death of the waves that toss forever and ever about. Come home, so ragged the dogs forget, — and you'll find the latchstring out! 1:1463 THE RHYME OF THE ELDER BROTHER J. AM the Elder Brother; you've heard of the Prodigal Son, But little of me, I'll warrant, who stuck till the job was done. While he was off carousing at Caesarea and Tyre With dissolute dancing women to sound of tabour and lyre. I am the Elder Brother; I brought the sheep to the fold When, spite of t.he wool he carried, the black ram shivered with cold. When frost gleamed white on the roof-tops as thick as a fall of snow And the great, pale star of evening shone like a lamp hung low. I am the Elder Brother; I worked till far in the night To see that the cows were foddered and the horses bedded right; The Boy, he took his portion and scattered it far and near, — But I held on to my wages to buy more farming- gear, And I looked about for a woman, and married, and settled down And kept so busy I've only gone twice of a year to town. ni47 3 I am the Elder Brother; when he came strolHng back I strove to send him packing to follow his former track, Yes, I who had heaved and lifted along with the other men, I urged the Old Man blackly to let him shift again. . . . And ever I grew bitter to see that the right was done To me, the Elder Brother in re the Prodigal Son, And each plea knotted me harder, I stood as firm as a rock — Till one day down in the village I heard a Young Man talk (A queer young chap from somewhere . . . folk said from Galilee) Of God . . . and Love , . . and Brothers . . . and He seemed to speak to me As He told of the lost sheep straying far from the wonted track, — For only that day, a fortnight, I brought one in on my back. And I hadn't stopped to chide it, but I had carried it in — And I saw I'd treated it better than my own blood and kin; ni48 3 And I went back home, and was decent, and joined the lad at the fire And I even enjoyed his stories, though I knew he was half a liar! . . . But I'd Hke to know what happened to the Lad who was young as he. Who talked so plainly to people that He only spoke to me! C1493 A FANTASY OF HEAVEN A ERHAPS he plays with cherubs now, Those little, golden boys of God, Bending, with them, some silver bough. The while a seraph, head a-nod. Slumbers on guard; how they will run And shout, if he should wake too soon, — As fruit more golden than the sun And riper than the full-grown moon, Conglobed in clusters, weighs them down. Like Atlas heaped with starry signs; And, if they're tripped, heel over crown. By hidden coils of mighty vines, — Perhaps the seraph, swift to pounce, Will hale them, vexed, to God — and He Will only laugh, remembering, once He was a boy in Galilee! 1:1503 Ti HIGHWAYMAN'S SONG HERE'S a smell of burning wood in the air That comes with the turning year, The road unwinds in a silver coil As the autumn moon rides clear Of a patch of cloud, — and there, etched sheer. Swings the coach, through a burst of light. . . . O, a harvest of Louis D'or is ours, A flood of golden sovereigns is ours If we screw our courage tight; With a heigh and a ho As we rob 'em so In the gaze of the great, white moon, — Though every thief has his piece of rope. Every thief has his piece of rope That hangs him, late or soon. Now there isn't a game in all the earth That only one can play; The blackest of crimes needs fellowship To hearten or gainsay, — And we are rollicking, singing lads, Although we'll get for our pains A gibbet on a bleak cross-road To swing on the wind in chains. . . . O, the stage draws near and the moon rides clear As we wait where the shadows lurk, — And, bursting forth, we make 'em stand, All in a row we make 'em stand With many a jest and quirk, As with heigh and ho We rob 'em so In the gaze of the great, white moon, Though every thief has his piece of rope, Every thief has his piece of rope That hangs him, late or soon. 1:1523 THE MADMAN I HAD a vision in the night: That vast mysterious something, That which hangs imminent in orchestras, That thing which every human heart expects, I dreamed had happened to me; Sometimes I felt it hanging over me Like the shadow Of enormous catastrophe, And then again it was the liberation From everything, The unpremeditated event That hovers, infinite, over every man. . . . No, it is not death. Nor love, Nor fame, success, nor wealth: These are but paltry things, The sparrow's wing before the archangel's flight. . . . Day after day I felt that it would happen Of which all mankind feel the imminence As Christians dream a great, red Judgment Day And dip their lives into its dreadful color. . . . Hiss 3 And now it must have happened To me, at last; The rosy nakedness of immortality, Or something kin to that, Has fallen over me: I am all ecstacy, And cannot give it words. . . . And yet they lead me oiF, One upon either side. Saying that I am mad! 1:1543 THE DEAD LOVER I AM out here in the rain; O, my love, let me in And tomorrow the parson Will shrive us of sin. O, woe*s me, my love. There's a man with you there, With his mouth on your mouth And his hand on your hair; And you're happy, and laugh, — And the lamplight glows red. . So soon I'm forgotten I think I am dead! ClSSl THE DISEMBODIED I NVISIBLE, yet real as air, — My instant foot is everywhere. The cold's sharp lash no more may sting Nor darkness bid me fold my wing. Earth cumbrance of the five-fold sense Has widened to omniscience. Swifter than hope my foot can race Unto the other side of space, And I may see from where I stand God poise creation in his hand: Worlds flash and glow like firefly light, The shadow of his face their night; And now I glimpse his dawning smile Light up a bank of suns the while. 11.563 TRUTH AND LIE AFTER THE PERSIAN H .E who loves the truth must have Ever at hand a saddled steed To serve his instant need. He who thinks the truth must keep His foot into the stirrup thrust Lest he be ground to dust. He who speaks the truth must grow Wings back of either arm To lift him high from harm. . . . But he who lives the lie has need Of neither stirrup, steed, Nor wings about his head — For he's already dead! CIS? 3 THE BOOTH OF HAPPINESS Ti HERE was once an unhappy man Who had a bazaar in the east Where he carved Httle ivory toys Of elephant, god, and priest. The children gathered and gaped, And lovers paused as they went: There were crystal dwarfs with staves And grotesque images pent In beryl and chrysolite; There were tumblers poising a fan; And here was a bird, and there A bear that danced with a man. . . The man bent low in his booth Plying and plying his trade To bury the woes of his life In the queer little toys he made; And the people bought and bought. The street was full of their press — And they named the man's bazaar "The Booth Of Happiness !'* c 158:1 UNNUMBERED WORLDS Ui NNUMBERED worlds flash round unnum- bered suns: World-generations battle, labour, cease. And millions go down to the final peace Through all the Starry Vast, while on there runs Fierce generation still, and little ones Clap tiny palms on million mothers' knees — Themselves to toil and strive till death's release And from their loins pour newer millions. From time to time all Space doth halt and cry On Thee, O Life, — for it would gladly know Whence they have come and whither they must go — Then a star falls, and silence gives reply. , , . No answer else! — and Nature trudges on With death and life and sunset, night and dawn. i:is9 3 THE HAUNTED HOUSE I T is vacant in the daylight, There is nothing Hving there. But at night the foot of Something Goes up and down the stair. There's a fence of rusted pickets; In the yard the tangled grass Clutches at the feet in warning: Every pane's a shattered glass; On a plot where burst a fountain Prone a marble naiad lies Staring up in sun or starshine With unseeing, soulless eyes; Ancient weeds have choked the flowers That in patterned order stood; Step by step with sure encroachment, Marches in the gloomy wood. . . . It is vacant in the daylight. There is nothing living there; For at night the foot of something Goes up and down the stair. 1:160 3 THE BALLAD OF THE LIVING DEAD I THOUGHT that when I struck him down, Why, that would be the end Of him who stole my Love away, That false, betraying friend. I gave him no time for a prayer And no space for a priest. . . . I flung him over in the moat To make the fishes' feast. Yet, even as I turned away And thought, "now all is well," A night-thing sent a doleful cry Like a far voice from hell! They searched for many a torch-lit night. For many a windy day Till a peasant said he'd seen him go As he had ridden away. ... Full loud I laughed . . . but when I saw The stable open wide, I feared the Dead who would not die, — His horse was not inside. 1:161 3 Then came my woman he had won, Saying, "your ring of worth He took, last night. Behold, no more It holds my finger's girth. ..." O', worse than death the look he gave. And none the words he said When the slain man returned, one night. And stood beside my bed. . . . I sent for the sad, grey, silent priest, And, as he harked to me. Horror rose in his face like the dawn Over a still, grey sea: Alas, alas, I've learned too late Now that my days are sped That strike with daggers all you may. The Dead will not lie dead. . . . And I hear them building all day long And far into the night A tall thing with a dangling rope Upon a sky-black height. 1:1623 THE GAME WARDEN'S SON R ATHER, O father, what have you done With Ruddy Kervil, the Warden's son? — He has gone forth under the sky To watch the young grey goshawks fly. O father, father, what have you done With the Game Warden's only son? — He has gone forth to fish for me Where the bitter marsh runs black to the sea. O father, my father, what have you done With a grey-faced woman's only son? — He has gone forth to hunt, alone. The deer that drink by Yarbury Stone. My father, my father, what have you done With my own lover, the Warden's son? — By Yarvel Mere is a track of red. . . . And the crows are gathering overhead. C163: THE BETRAYAL Ti HERE were miles and miles of still, grey heath Where never a wind did run, And there was a great cloud in the sky Red with the sinking sun, And the tufts of grass stood black and high With the sun's last edge behind. While a small grey bird slipped through the air Like a dream from a madman's mind. Then, far away, a trumpet shrilled Like the cry of a new-born child, And I saw the little moving stars Of their spearheads tossing wild. . . . "What voices are those, my own dear love?'* "Tis the waves of the sea that roar!" "Nay, we are miles and miles away From the sea and the good sea's shore, . Where the hermit dwells who will make us one. Where I fear we never shall win!" I leaned above the horse's mane And I drove the rowels in. . . . "I think I hear my father's voice." "Tis a bittern from yonder mere!" Then an arrow sped high overhead, — It whistled high and clear, 1:1643 And after it leaped her father's voice, "Light dowii, light down like a man, And fight with any one of us. . . . You have broken the law of the clan!'* "Nay, heed them not," my true love spoke, "I have broken the law of the clan. An ancient law, and a cruel law — But they've called me, man to man, — Yet how could they know the way of our flight, The way of our flight so soon ? For as yet the sky is dark with the lack Of the still unrisen noon. . . . Sir Hugh is the only knight that knows, A friend both tried and true!" — Then I saw in the front, by her father's side. That traitor and thief. Sir Hugh! "I have twenty knights will cleave your skull, Oh, stealer of women so bold ! " "There is only one knight I would slay in fight — The bloodless thief that told!" With that her father laughed a laugh And smote Sir Hugh on the knee. . . . "You were quick to tell ... by the bottom of Hell, Be as quick to fight!" quo' he. We couched our spears as the bright moon rose; We fought right lustily, — I found him brave as he was false, Right false and brave was he; But I caught him at last with a sudden blast Of blows on the head and breast. And I tore away his morion With a tug at the helmet's crest. . . . His still grey face shone white in the moon, His still grey face shone white As I knelt by his side before he died. There in the still grey night. . . . "Sir Hugh that was my life-long friend Beneath both moon and sun, O, why have you done the foulest deed That ever friend has done.?" "Lean down, lean down right secretly. As once you held me dear, For the thing that I would tell to you No other man must hear: You knew all things I thought or knew, — One thing you did not know; The thing that I hid from you in my heart That brings us both to woe. ..." 1:166 3 Lower I leaned in the low red grass To hear the words he sighed From his death-slow lips, "I loved her too, God . . . knows!" so my false friend died. 1 1^71 HE DID NOT KNOW H E did not know that he was dead: He walked along the crowded street, Smiled, tipped his hat, nodded his head To friends he chanced to meet, — And yet they passed him quietly by With an unknowing, level stare; They met him with an abstract eye As if he were the air. "Some sorry thing has come to pass,'* The Dead Man thought ... he hurried home And found his wife before the glass Dallying with a comb. ... He found his wife all dressed in black; He kissed her mouth ... he stroked her head. . . . "Men act so strange since I've come back From over there," he said. She said no word . . . she only smiled; But now he heard her speak his name. And saw her study, grief-beguiled. His picture in a frame. . . . Then he remembered that black night And the great shell-burst wide and red. . . . The sudden plunging into light — And knew that he was dead! Ci68 3 THE FIDDLER Wi HY, upon this lovely day, Must that wretched fiddler play, — All the sky one stainless blue, — Every note he strikes, untrue! . . . Summer deep embowered in flowers, Silent music in the hours. In the east a feather moon, — And — that fiddler out of tune! God's hand never slipped to mar At the making of a star; There's no true excuse yet made For the bungler at his trade! 1:1693 STREET LAMPS GREENWICH VILLAGE OOFTLY they take their being, one by one, From the lamp-Hghter's hand, after the sun Has dropped to dusk . . . like Httle flowers they bloom Set in long rows amid the growing gloom. . . . Who he who lights them is, I do not know. Except that, every eve, with footfall slow And regular, he passes by my room And sets his gusty flowers of light a-bloom. C170II I A POET'S ROOM GREENWICH VILLAGE I912 HAVE a table, cot and chair And nothing more. The walls are bare Yet I confess that in my room Lie Syrian rugs rich from the loom, Stand statues poised on flying toe, Hang tapestries with folk a-flow As the wind takes them to and fro. And workman Fancy has inlaid My walls with ivory and jade. Though opening on a New York street Full of cries and hurryng feet My window is a faery space That gives on each imagined place; Old ruins lost in desert peace; The broken fanes and shrines of Greece; Aegean islands fringed with foam; The everlasting tops of Rome; Troy flowing red with skyward flame. And every spot of hallowed fame. Outside my window I can see The sweet blue lake of Galilee, And Carmel's purple-regioned height And Sinai clothed with stars and night. n 171 1 But this is told in confidence, So not a word when you go hence, For if my landlord once but knew My attic fetched so large a view, The churl would never rest content Till he had raised the monthly rent. C1723 FAREWELL T] ELL them, O Sky-born, when I die With high romance to wife. That I went out as I had lived. Drunk with the joy of hfe. Yea, say that I went down to death Serene and unafraid. Still loving Song, but loving more Life, of which Song is made! 1:173 3 ^107 ^^ .4^.^^^^.^^. ,\>\-yi'.%. .*p^.a:nL'*,-^^ ^^^^'^ •0^ "i'c?' ^:*v A. t^s* .A. 0^ %r» ^^6^ ^OV" ^^0^ ^.{5°^ if ,; ;•[ mrngsmm iifliiii :•;,: •■■■■■ ■''■'■! .(::•;■'*; ,■„, 'i. :• '■ A \ili';«^' vrW?f ^i;*^