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, Of spice or precious stones, In flame beneath the tropics, And some we got by purchase, At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, For charity to keep, And light the rolling homeward-bound That rode a foot too deep. By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred To carry all away 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, Our hair stood up for wonder, 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 That calls the black deep down— Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer, The Thing that may not drown. 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, That opened as he sped, We saw dead Henry Hudson Steer, North by West, his dead. So dealt God's waters with us So walked His signs and marvels 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! |