PHANTOMS.
Like a tide that runs increasing,Bearing ships to port again,
There's a tide that brings unceasing
Pleasures to my restless brain.
When at night I sit and swinging
Idly to a strain of thought,
Then it flows, resistless, bringing
Countless tales with pleasure fraught.
And it seems as though the olden
Stories of the mystic sea
Came like ships to bear their golden,
Precious cargoes unto me.
For I hail with deep emotion
All those gray and ghostly forms,
Phantoms of the shoreless ocean
That is swept by constant storms.
And I see from mist-enshrouded,
Ancient, half-forgotten tales
Galleons rise, and memory clouded,
Pass with faint and formless sails.
Others come, the tall and splendid
Monarchs of the oaken side,
Who, with master arms, contended
For the empire of the tide.
One by one they pass in glory—
Stately shapes that led the van—
Builders of the ocean's story,
Noblest gift of man to man.
And not less the worn and shattered,
Drifting, find my port at last.
All the stranded, stove, and battered
Victims of the wave and blast,
They are mine by right of capture:
Buccaneer and ship of plate;
And I search their holds with rapture
Till the night grows cold and late;
Till the moon, high-prowed and dipping,
Like a ship of ancient worth,
Leaves her cloudy port and slipping,
Spins her wake across the earth.
And the wind, to peace consenting,
Breathes a hymn above the land;
And the ocean, half repenting,
Kneels in prayer along the sand.
FLOTSAM.
For the tide runs in and the tide runs out,And the women they talk and wait,
For hope has a soul that is built of doubt,
And our ships are ofttimes late.
And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
And the drift goes floating past;
A message it bears to the waiting town
In form of a broken mast.
Look! no seaweed yellows its shattered ends!
No shell-fish whiten its girth!
'Tis a message, they cry, old Ocean sends
To those they have left on earth!
And the tide runs up and the tide runs down,
And the sea reclaims its toll;
But the hopes that live in that stricken town
Are those hopes that have no soul.
THE LOST SHIP.
Who saw the ship going down to the seaWith her topsails sheeted home, and her spanker
Swelling like a course, foam along the lee,
And the crew on the tackle of the anchor?
Who saw her running off from the land,
Wind blowing strong, steering true for the light-ship,
But went away wishing he might command
Some future day such a tall, such a tight ship?
Came she never back again to that port?
Long did they wait, watching out at eve and morn.
Last was she seen hove-to with canvas short
By an eastward bounder scudding past the Horn.
Who saw her sink that midnight in the storm?
Where does she lie, rig-tangled and hull-broken?
Sails she, perhaps, a ghostly, gliding form,
That silent sea where ships are never spoken?
THE MAIN-SHEET SONG.
Rushing along on a narrow reach,Our rival under the lee,
The wind falls foul of the weather leach,
And the jib flaps fretfully.
The skipper casts a glance along,
And handles his wheel to meet—
Then sings in the voice of a stormy song,
"All hands get on that sheet!"
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill,
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
And bring the main-sheet aft.
Rolling the foam up over the rail
She smokes along and flings
A spurt of spray in the curving sail,
And plunges and rolls and springs;
For a wild, wet spot is the scuppers' sweep,
As we stand to our knees along—
It's a foot to make and a foot to keep
As we surge to the bullie's song.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
And bring the main-sheet aft.
Muscle and mind are a winning pair
With a lively plank below,
That whether the wind be foul or fair
Will pick up her heels and go;
For old hemp and hands are shipmates long—
There's work whenever they meet—
So here's to a pull that's steady and strong,
When all hands get on the sheet.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill
With a rattle of blocks abaft.
Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will
And bring the main-sheet aft.
THE LANDFALL
The scent of the soil is strong on the breeze,The gulls are many and shrill,
And over the crest of the cresting seas
Is floating a rosy hill;
And right at the base of this filmy shape,
Just clear of the weather shroud,
Say, is it ship, or is it a cape,
Or a hard spot in the cloud?
But hark! from aloft where the seaman swings,
And points with an eager hand,
Then fore and aft the glad cry rings—
Land, ho, land!
THE CLIPPER.
Her sails are strong and yellow as the sand,Her spars are tall and supple as the pine,
And, like the bounty of a generous mine,
Sun-touched, her brasses flash on every hand.
Her sheer takes beauty from a golden band,
Which, sweeping aft, is taught to twist and twine
Into a scroll, and badge of quaint design
Hang on her quarters. Insolent and grand
She drives. Her stem rings loudly as it throws
The hissing sapphire into foamy waves,
While on her weather bends the copper glows
In burnished splendor. Rolling down she laves
Her high black sides until the scupper flows,
Then pushing out her shapely bow she braves
The next tall sea, and, leaping, onward goes.
THE CONSTITUTION.
Where Glory dwells a hundred years,That spot becomes a shrine,
The very soil she trod appears
To bear the touch divine;
The rusted gun, the shattered blade,
Are kept with sacred hand,
And Honor bows before the shade
That fought to save the land.
Then why neglect—why give to rot
This victor of the flood?
Is she less holy than the spot
That drank a hero's blood?
Has she no plume to wing a thought—
No spark to fire a mind?
In names like her's such deeds are wrought
As glorify mankind.
And they, whose mighty banner fell
Before her lightning's blast,
Their victor rides the harbor swell
Unshorn of yard and mast;
And Glory gilds her like a sun,
When, steaming thro' the wave,
With dipping flag and rapid gun,
The brave salute the brave.
Then give ours back, the sail, the spar—
Go let her broadside roar!
A gun for every glit'ring star
Her conquering ensign bore.
To show ye have not held in vain
The heritage she kept,
Oh, let her image grace again
The sea she proudly swept!
THE TARTAR.
The wind from East to South has shifted,The sea's gone down and the clouds are rifted,
And broad on the larboard bow are seen
A full-rigged ship and a brigantine,
With a topsail schooner in between—
All bound to London Town.
The ship with a golden freight is freighted,
The old brigantine with coal is weighted,
The schooner's a slippery privateer,
With roguish rig and a saucy sheer—
Her cargo is guns and hearts of cheer—
All bound to London Town.
A Frenchman out of old Brest is cruising,
"A chance," says he, "there's no refusing.
I will drive that privateer away;
The ship and the brig will be my prey,
For we don't meet prizes every day—
All bound to London Town."
Then, crowding sail, on the wind he hurried;
The ship and the brig they worried and scurried.
The privateer, with her canvas short,
Just showed a muzzle at every port,
For she'd a crew of the fighting sort—
When bound to London Town.
The Frenchman tacked the weather gauge after;
The privateer cut the sea abaft her;
Before she had time to ease a turn
They drove a broadside into her stern,
For fighting's a trade one's apt to learn—
When bound to London Town.
Then side by side with their guns they pounded,
Till catching a puff the schooner rounded,
And ere they had way to do the like,
She laid them aboard with blade and pike,
So what could the Brestman do but strike—
And go to London Town?
The wind from East to the South has shifted,
The sea's gone down and the clouds are rifted,
And broad on the larboard bow are seen
A privateer and a brigantine,
With a captured Frenchman in between—
All bound to London Town.
WARNING.
When the old moon hangs to the cloud's gray tailAnd the stars play in and out;
When the East grows red and the West looks pale
And the wind goes knocking about;
When over the edge of the shapeless coast,
Where the horizon bites the cloud,
The rack of the rain stalks in like a ghost
And a sail blows through its shroud—
When the morn is such, of the noon beware!
For this calm's a stormy feint:
A reef in the sail is better than prayer,
For a snug ship needs no saint.
IN SEPTEMBER.
Oh, the wind, the wind,And the white wake behind;
And the land
Of yellow sand,
Looming like a band
Of gold along the rim;
And the laughter of the sea,
And the sense of mystery,
In the dim
Stretch of lee,
Where the haze
In the blaze
Of heat seems to meet
The sky.
Oh, the happy sails that fly
To the east, to the south,
And the light-house at the mouth
Of the bay
With its gray
Granite spire
Bold against the higher
Lift o' green,
And a smoky tug-boat's trail
Flaunting like a tail
Of stormy cloud,
And a steamer in between
With her paddles whirring round.
Oh, a day upon the Sound,
With the wind, the wind,
Coming out behind,
And the feeling of content
That is lent
To the mind,
When the sailing breeze is fair,
And your only thought or care
Is to keep
The sails asleep,
And run,
Until the sun
Drops in the West—
Then rest is best.
THE HOMEWARD BOUNDER'S SONG.
There's many a ship with taller mast,There's many of squarer yard,
There's many a one that sails as fast
And many that roll as hard;
With decks as white, with paint as bright,
With hull as staunch and sound;
But never ship that steers so light
As the ship that's homeward bound!
Then give her a spoke, and keep her west,
Hurrah, for the world is round!
And here's to the ship that steers the best—
Hurrah for the homeward bound!
There's many a port in distant land
And many a splendid sight,
Where turret slim and palace grand
Rise skyward tall and white;
Where castles rear, and far and near
Shines many a golden dome;
But never sight that's half so dear
As the dear old port at home.
Then give her a spoke, and keep her west,
Hurrah for a breeze astern!
And here's to the port we love the best—
The port where the twin-lights burn!
There's many a maid of fashion rare
In warm and palmy lands,
With sea-deep eyes and night-black hair
And brown and shapely hands;
With lips as red as ever led
The heart of a man to roam,
But never one we'd take instead
Of the girl that waits at home.
Then give her a spoke and keep her west,
Hurrah for a wake of foam!
And here's to the girl we love the best—
The girl that we leave at home.
THE SPELL OF THE SEA.
By the sea I sit and dreamOf things that have passed, and now
Are fading as fades the gleam
Of sail on the ocean's brow,
And I hear that song again
She sang to the world before
Men had crossed her glit'ring plain
To die on the further shore.
'Tis a song that, like the wind
In a stormy counterpart,
Rouses and rolls the restless mind,
Till it breaks against the heart—
Till it hurls its foam amain
On the reefs which gird that lee—
And the heart is swept again
By that yearning for the sea.
Ah, the sea it sings that song
Whenever the moon is full—
Whenever the wind is strong,
And the tides are bountiful—
And it throws a spell o'er one
That my heart cannot withstand,
So clearly do I foresee
That I shall not die on land.
DAYS OF OAK.
I.
When ship met ship in olden days,With battle banners flaunting,
From stem to stern the cannon's blaze
A fiery challenge vaunting—
Then man fought man, as brave men should,
To keep those walls of native wood.
II.
When broadsides roaring swept the deck,And crews were madly cheering;
When sail and spar were shot to wreck,
And ships were swiftly nearing;
Then men faced death, as brave men should,
Behind their walls of native wood.
III.
When face to face and hand to hand—When boarders' blades were flashing;
When bloody pikes made desperate stand,
And pistol balls were crashing—
Then man fought man, as brave men should,
To keep those walls of native wood.
IV.
When valiant arms prevailed at last,The foe for quarter crying,
The dying seaman eyed the mast,
And cheered his colors flying—
For men met death, as brave men should,
Behind their walls of native wood.
LONG, LONG AGO.
As slow our boat the water thro'Is stealing on the breeze,
The curving sky a tender blue,
A deeper blue the seas;
We mark whereon the western edge
A band of coast is seen,
Where juts the cape and slopes the ledge,
A port is shut between.
On either side a sudden rise
Of black and broken rock
Thrusts out an arm that well defies
The frantic ocean's shock;
And from its point the sunken reef
Runs out a mile or more,
Where many a ship has come to grief
When breaking breakers roar.
Long, long ago, in sudden wrath
A storm burst on this land;
It caught a fleet within its path—
An admiral in command.
For three black days they fought the gale,
Then one by one they wore—
And reft of spar and stripped of sail
Went smashing on that shore.
Where red and rough the land-slip beach
Is touched by tiny waves—
Beyond the winter breaker's reach
They dug their shallow graves;
And with a prayer that half expressed
The sorrow that they knew,
They laid the admiral there to rest
Surrounded by his crew.
But, ah, to-day is sweet—and lo,
The ocean is at rest,
Save for a breathing low and slow
Of wind across its breast.
Far out beyond the cloudy forms
Are anchored on the edge—
It is no time to talk of storms,
Of wrecks upon the ledge.
WIND HAPPY SHIPS.
Wind happy ships, that rise and makeAcross the gaping bay,
To dance like bubbles in the wake
Of westward flying day.
So quick they rise, so swift they flow,
So bright their topsails gleam,
They seem to come, and come and go
Like joy-thoughts in a dream.
Wind happy ships, in constant flight
Across the sloping main,
That thro' the dark and thro' the light
Sail on and on again.
A port ye have, I know not where—
'Tis far beyond my world—
But pray some day may find you there
With all your canvas furled.
THE QUEST.
My carrack rides the wave below,The castle glooms above—
"Now who will sail the sea with me,
To find the man I love?"
Three pilots tall sit in the hall,
And drink my father's ale—
"Now one of three must go with me,
This ship of mine to sail."
Deep, deep they quaffed, and quaffing,
Struck the board with tankard chine—
"Now in what port, to East or West,
Dwells this true love of thine?"
"I seek no port to East or West,
But down beyond the rim,
By following far the falling star,
My ship will come to him.
"He rules a land of surfless shores,
Of deep enchanted bays;
Where time is twice as long again,
And half the nights are days;
"Where dreams are dreamt with open eyes;
Where love forbears to change;
And all that's new is old and sweet,
And all that's old is strange."
Loud, loud they laughed, and laughing,
Blew the foam from bearded lips
As blows the gale the whiter foam
From the bows of plunging ships.
Then up and spake the youngest one—
And laughter seamed his cheek—
"There is no port beyond the rim,
Such as the port you seek.
"The sea is wide, and isles may hide
Unknown to pilot's eye;
But this, methink, lies on the brink,
When glows the ev'ning sky:
"A vapory shore that fades before
The swift-advancing stars;
Where rides the moon on blue lagoon
Embayed by golden bars."
He ceased; and the boisterous laughter
Rose rumbling thro' the hall.
It swept like a gale among the mail,
And the banners shook like shivered sail,
As it rolled from wall to wall.
Then up and spake the second one:
"I fear not wind nor wave;
But this soft clime of twice-long time
Must lie beyond the grave.
"No seaman's skill, no pilot's art,
May find that port, I ween,
For God alone doth read the chart
Of that dark sea between.
"And though I serve my Lord and King
With head, and heart, and hand,
I will not make, for woman's sake,
A voyage to find that land!"
They laughed, but they laughed less lightly,
As though they felt their breath,
And cheered the jest to free the breast
From ugly thoughts of death.
The maiden stepp'd three paces back,
But nothing did she say—
She turned her eyes upon the west,
She signed the cross upon her breast,
Then bent her knee to pray.
Dear heart, but it was beautiful
To hear that maiden's prayer!
So strong of faith, so rich with love—
It seem'd as though the sun above
Slipp'd down to drink its share.
And the saint on the window painted
Looked down on her bended head,
As a father who lingers watching
Soft breathed above the dead—
Looked down from the glowing casement,
From the sun-lit crimson glass—
Then followed a murmur of whispered prayer,
And a silence descended unaware,
Like the silence of the mass.
Then up she rose like one refreshed,
Who bendeth o'er a stream
And drinketh deep, and in her eyes
There shone the light that mocks the wise
And maketh doubt a dream.
Then up she rose as one refreshed
And spake but once again:
"If you trust your heart above your art
Our search will not be vain."
Then stood and spake the oldest one:
"My eyes are true and keen,
And I have sailed for four-score years
Wherever ship hath been.
"From East to West, from North to South,
With every wind that blows,
I know no land beyond the rim