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-roil 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 under bonnets 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-O 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 gives the door to us, Whirling like a windmill on the dirty scud Till the last, last flicker goes Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where THE SEA-WIFE. THERE dwells a wife by the Northern Gate, And a wealthy wife is she; She breeds a breed o' rovin' men And casts them over sea, And some are drowned in deep water, And word goes back to the weary wife, For since that wife had gate and gear, She willed her sons to the white harvest, She wills her sons to the wet ploughing, To ride the horse of tree; And syne her sons come home again The good wife's sons come home again But the lore of men that ha' dealt with men In the new and naked lands. But the faith of men that ha' brothered men And the eyes o' men that ha' read wi' men Rich are they, rich in wonders seen, So what they ha' got by the skin o' their teeth For whether they lose to the naked skin, Or win to their hearts' desire, They tell it all to the weary wife Her hearth is wide to every wind (Out with great mirth that do desire Hazard of trackless ways, In with content to wait their watch And some return by failing light, For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts Home, they come home from all the ports, The living and the dead; The good wife's sons come home again For her blessing on their head! |