THE DERELICT 1894 "And reports the derelict Mary Pollock' still at sea I WAS the staunchest of our fleet SHIPPING NEWS. Till the sea rose beneath our feet Man made me, and my will Is to my maker still, Whom now the currents con, the rollers steer Lifting forlorn to spy Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near! Wrenched as the lips of thirst, Wried, dried, and split and burst, Bone-bleached my decks, wind-scoured to the graining; And jarred at every roll The gear that was my soul Answers the anguish of my beams' complaining. For life that crammed me full, Gangs of the prying gull That shriek and scrabble on the riven hatches! For roar that dumbed the gale, My hawse-pipes' guttering wail, Sobbing my heart out through the uncounted watches! Blind in the hot blue ring Through all my points I swing Swing and return to shift the sun anew. Blind in my well-known sky I hear the stars go by, Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true ! White on my wasted path Wave after wave in wrath Frets 'gainst his fellow, warring where to send me. Flung forward, heaved aside, The Witless and dazed I bide mercy of the comber that shall end me. North where the bergs careen, The spray of seas unseen Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling; South where the corals breed, The footless, floating weed Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling. I that was clean to run My race against the sun --- Strength on the deep-am bawd to all disaster; My sister's careless feet, And with a kiss betray her to my master! Man made me, and my will Is to my maker still To him and his, our peoples at their pier: Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near! Coastwise THE MERCHANTMEN 1893 KING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, Because of his desire For peacocks, apes, and ivory, cross-seas round the world and back again Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits Plain-sail storm-sail lay your board and tack again And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots! We bring no store of ingots, Of spice or precious stones, And some we got by purchase, And light the rolling homeward-bound By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred From the kentledge on the kelson To the slings upon the yard. Six oceans had their will of us To carry all away — Our galley's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, On islands none have hailed; Strange consorts rode beside us Till, through the red tornado, We saw The Dutchman plunging, We've heard the Midnight Leadsman That calls the black deep down — |