Volume Iii Part 60 (2/2)

O melancholy soul, whom far and near, In life, faith, hope, the same sad undertone Pursues from thought to thought! thou needs must hear An old refrain, too much, too long thine own: 'Tis thy mortality infects thine ear; The mournful strain was in thyself alone.

Christopher Pea.r.s.e Cranch [1813-1892]

SEA FEVER

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall s.h.i.+p and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gipsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield [1878-

HASTINGS MILL

As I went down by Hastings Mill I lingered in my going To smell the smell of piled-up deals and feel the salt wind blowing, To hear the cables fret and creak and the ropes stir and sigh (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) as in days gone by.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I saw a s.h.i.+p there lying, About her tawny yards the little clouds of sunset flying; And half I took her for the ghost of one I used to know (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) many years ago.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I saw while I stood dreaming The flicker of her riding light along the ripples streaming, The bollards where we made her fast and the berth where she did lie (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) in the days gone by.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I heard a fellow singing, Chipping off the deep sea rust above the tide a-swinging, And well I knew the queer old tune and well the song he sung (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) when the world was young.

And past the rowdy Union Wharf, and by the still tide sleeping, To a randy dandy deep sea tune my heart in time was keeping, To the thin far sound of a shadowy watch a-hauling, And the voice of one I knew across the high tide calling (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) and the late dusk falling!

Cecily Fox-Smith [1882-

”A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA”

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good s.h.i.+p flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good s.h.i.+p tight and free-- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners!

The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham [1784-1842]

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