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, With my "Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! [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, Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan I can rip your very heartstrings out with those; With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink, And the merry play that drops you, when you're done, To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think. With my "Plunka - lunka - lunka - lunka lunk!" Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin And the heavier repentance at the last. Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof- When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, With my "Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!” But the word-the word is mine, when the And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die. The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre[O the blue below the little fisher-huts!] That the Stealer stooping beachward filled with fire, Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts! By the wisdom of the centuries I speak To the tune of yestermorn I set the truthI, the joy of life unquestioned-I, the GreekI, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth! With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!" [What d'ye lack, my noble masters ? What d'ye lack?] So I draw the world together link by link: Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back! "THE LINER SHE'S A LADY." THE Liner she's a lady, 'an she never looks nor 'eeds The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e gives 'er all she needs; But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun', They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an' down! Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard, All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard; Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' oldPlyin' up an' down, Jenny, waitin' in the cold! The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face, An' if she meets an accident they call it sore dis grace: |