THE MERCHANTMEN. KING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, For peacocks, apes, and ivory, But we be only sailormen That use in London town. Coastwise-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, In flame beneath the tropics, And some we got by purchase, At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, And light the rolling homeward-bound By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred Our galley 's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, With the Norther at our heels: We've ratched beyond the Crossets And dipped our gunnels under Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, And saw the land-lights burning On islands none have hailed; Our hair stood up for wonder, But, when the night was done, There danced the deep to windward Blue-empty 'neath the sun! Strange consorts rode beside us The witch-fire climbed our channels, And danced on vane and truck: Till, through the red tornado, That lashed us nigh to blind, We saw The Dutchman plunging, We've heard the Midnight Leadsman On frozen bunt and gasket The sleet-cloud drave her hosts, When, manned by more than signed with us, We passed the Isle o' Ghosts! And north, amid the hummocks, That frighted whalers know; For, down a cruel ice-lane, Steer, North by West, his dead. So dealt God's waters with us But we were heading homeward Let go, let go the anchors; Now shamed at heart are we To bring so poor a cargo home Let go the great bow-anchors Ah, fools were we and blind- Coastwise-cross-seas-round the world and back again, Whither the flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: Plain-sail-storm-sail-lay your board and tack again And all to bring a cargo up to London Town! |