The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it

White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it;

His Sea as his fathers have dared his Sea as his children

shall dare it

His Sea as she serves him or kills?
so and no otherwise

So and no otherwise

hillmen desire

their Hills.

Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather

Inland, among dust, under trees - inland where the slayer may slay him—

Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he

His Sea at the first that betrayed at the last that shall never betray him

His Sea that his being fulfils?

So and no otherwise

so and no otherwise hillmen desire

Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl. Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full

Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!

Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my

Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;

For the wind has come to say:

"You must take me while you may,

If you'd go to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"

Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah break it out o' that! Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear! Port port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot,

And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year!

Well, ah, fare you well, for we've got to take her out again

Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free.
And it's time to clear and quit

When the hawser grips the bitt,

So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from

the sea!

Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her!
Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall!
Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!

Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind's took hold of us,

Choking down our voices as we snatch the gaskets free.
And it's blowing up for night,

And she's dropping light on light,

And she's snorting and she's snatching for a breath of open sea!

Wheel, full and by; but she 'll smell her road alone to-night.
Sick she is and harbour-sick- oh, sick to clear the land!
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us
Carry on and thrash her out with all she 'll stand!

Well, ah, fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door

on us,

Whirling like a windmill through the dirty scud to lee:
Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we're off to Mother Carey

(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),

Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!

RHYME OF THE THREE SEALERS

1893

AWAY by the lands of the Japanee
Where the paper lanterns glow
And the crews of all the shipping drink
In the house of Blood Street Joe,
At twilight, when the landward breeze
Brings up the harbour noise,

And ebb of Yokohama Bay

Swigs chattering through the buoys,

In Cisco's Dewdrop Dining Rooms

They tell the tale anew

Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,

When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light
And the Stralsund fought the two.

Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,

When you come by his isles in the Smoky Sea you must not take the seal,

Where the grey sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,

And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they breed for themselves;

For when the matkas1 seek the shore to drop their pups

aland,

The great man-seal haul out of the sea, aroaring, band by

band.

And when the first September gales have slaked their ruttingwrath,

The great man-seal haul back to the sea and no man knows their path.

Then dark they lie and stark they lie— rookery, dune, and

floe,

And the Northern Lights come down o' nights to dance with the houseless snow;

And God Who clears the grounding berg and steers the grinding floe,

He hears the cry of the little kit-fox and the wind along the

snow.

But since our women must walk gay and money buys their

gear,

The sealing-boats they filch that way at hazard year by year. English they be and Japanee that hang on the Brown Bear's

flank,

And some be Scot, but the worst of the lot, and the boldest thieves, be Yank!

It was the sealer Northern Light, to the Smoky Seas she bore. With a stovepipe stuck from a starboard port and the Russian flag at her fore.

1 She-seal.

(Baltic, Stralsund, and Northern Light — oh! they were birds of a feather

Slipping away to the Smoky Seas, three seal-thieves together!)

And at last she came to a sandy cove and the Baltic lay therein,

But her men were up with the herding seal to drive and club and skin.

There were fifteen hundred skins abeach, cool pelt and proper

fur,

When the Northern Light drove into the bight and the seamist drove with her.

The Baltic called her men and weighed - she could not choose but run

For a stovepipe seen through the closing mist, it shows like a four-inch gun

(And loss it is that is sad as death to lose both trip and ship And lie for a rotting contraband on Vladivostock slip). She turned and dived in the sea-smother as a rabbit dives in

the whins,

And the Northern Light sent up her boats to steal the stolen

skins.

They had not brought a load to side or slid their hatches

clear,

When they were aware of a sloop-of-war, ghost white and very near.

Her flag she showed, and her guns she showed - three of them, black, abeam,

And a funnel white with the crusted salt, but never a show of

steam.

There was no time to man the brakes, they knocked the shackle free,

And the Northern Light stood out again, goose-winged to

open sea.

(For life it is that is worse than death, by force of Russian

law