North where the bergs careen, The spray of seas unseen Smokes round my head and freezes in the fall ing; South where the corals breed, The footless, floating weed Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawl ing. I that was clean to run My race against the sun Strength on the deep, am bawd to all disasterWhipped forth by night to meet 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: Lifting in hope to spy Trailed smoke along the sky; Falling afraid lest any keel come near! THE SONG OF THE BANJO. You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile- I travel with the cooking-pots and pails I'm sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork And when the dusty column checks and tails, You should hear me spur the rearguard to a walk! With my "Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!" head!] So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop; So I play 'em up to water and to bed. In the silence of the camp before the fight, When it's good to make your will and say your prayer, You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight Of the Patently Impossible and Vain— 66 Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa With my In the desert where the dung-fed camp- There was never voice before us till I led I-the war-drum of the White Man round By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread, Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own,'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed, In the silence of the herder's hut alone In the twilight, on a bucket upside down, I am Memory and Torment-I am Town! I am all that ever went with evening dress! UNIVERSITY OF MICHIRAN TIDRAPIES With my "Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka tunk!" [So the lights-the London lights-grow near and plain!] So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh, Till I bring my broken rankers home again. In desire of many marvels over sea, Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars, I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores. He is blooded to the open and the sky, He is taken in a snare that shall not fail, He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die, Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale. With my "Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!" [O the green that thunders aft along the deck!] Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again, For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!" Through the gorge that gives the stars at noonday clear Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal: Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow, Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine, So I lead my reckless children from below With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!"' So we ride the iron stallions down to drink, And the tunes that mean so much to you alone Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose, |