by
George Steele Seymour
TREASURE ISLAND
Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing,
The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea,
The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling,
And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?
The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,
She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,
Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,
When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?
Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,
With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,
Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed—
When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?
Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!
ALAN BRECK
Is't you, Alan? You of the ready sword
And nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye,
Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spy
Aught that might touch your own dear absent lord!
Hero and clown! How it sets every chord
Athrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh,
And all your brave, fantastic finery!
Romance no stranger picture doth afford.
For I have met you in the House of Fear,
Have watched you cross the torrent of Glencoe
And climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.
We are old comrades, and I hold most dear
This loyal friend and yet more loyal foe
Who bore a kingly name with kingly pride.
ELLIS DUCKWORTH
Was there a rustle of the leafy bed?
Heard you no footstep in the matted grass?
Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows pass
What is it lurks so still? What secret dread
Troubles the tangled branches overhead?
An ye be foe to this good man, alas!
No art shall save you though ye walk in brass.
Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.
The woods are still—for that was years ago—
And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,
No train-band rules the highway as of yore.
Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.
Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,
And the black arrow speeds its way no more.
SAINT IVES
Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe.
The noble lord your uncle—bless his name!
And may your wicked captors die in shame.
I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead—so!
The castle cliff is steep, but down below
Both fortune and the lady Flora wait.
Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate,
Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.
The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.
Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.
What's that! A chest of florins in the drag
Gone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!
Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...
Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.
PRINCE FLORIZEL
Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavour
I recommend. A smoke-royal. With white wines
You'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savour
Comes only in stock from the Isle of Pines.
Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian,
Such as no other merchant has to sell,
And Trichinopoly of the same description
I smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.
That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,
Left my exalted home and wandered far,
Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,
Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.
Till Louis looked from out the empyrean
And in the dust of Mayfair found a star.
THE EBB TIDE
Green palm-tops bending low by silent seas
Like heads in prayer—
Life's turmoil nor its multiplicities
Are there.
But only calms and potencies hold sway
That will not be denied,
Come with the surge of dawn and drift away
With the ebb tide.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the secret of transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.
[B] Paua—Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge clam. When it closes on any one, his only escape is by losing the limb.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been standardized.