UC-NRLF 
 
loH 4 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 C. FOX SMITH 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 SEA SONGS AND BALLADS 
 
 BY 
 
 C. FOX SMITH 
 
 AXJTHOR OF "small CRAFT," ETC. 
 
 NEW ^S^ YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COIVIPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 

 The Author's thanks for permission to reprint 
 are due to the Editors of the following: Black' 
 wood*s Magazine, The Spectator, Pall Mall Maga- 
 zine, Windsor Magazine, Country Life, West- 
 minster Gazette, Sphere, Daily Chronicle, and 
 Fwnch, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I: SAILOR TOWN p^o^ 
 
 Sailob Town 11 
 
 The Ballad OF THE "Matterhobn" 13 
 
 Bill the Dreamer 18 
 
 The Last of the Sealing Fleet 20 
 
 Gerrans Churchtown 23 
 
 The OuLD Has-been 25 
 
 Rio Grande 28 
 
 The Ballad of the Only Love 30 
 
 Rolling Home 34 
 
 The China Sea 37 
 
 A Channel Rhyme 40 
 
 Rathlin Head 42 
 
 The Sailor's Garden 45 
 
 Market Day 47 
 
 Mother Carey 49 
 
 The Ship's Good-bye 51 
 
 "Let Her Go!" 53 
 
 Hastings Mill 56 
 
 Dead Man's Bay 58 
 
 The Green Thicket 60 
 
 A Declaration of War 62 
 
 — ^vii — 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Prairie Shepherd 66 
 
 Traveller's Rest 69 
 
 Shipmate Sorrow 71 
 
 The Rhyme OP THE "Inisfail" 73 
 
 II: THE NAVAL CROWN 
 
 The Ballad OF THE "Eastern Crown" 81 
 
 British Merchant Service, 1915 85 
 
 The Younger Son 88 
 
 The North Sea Ground 91 
 
 Royal Naval Reserve 94 
 
 The "Orion's" Figurehead at Whitehall 97 
 
 The Return op the Prodigal 100 
 
 Captain Paul Jones 103 
 
 The Ballad op the Hun King's Dream 105 
 
 Newfoundland's Gift 108 
 
 Saint Patrick's Day in the Morning 110 
 
 The Happy Warrior 112 
 
 Armed Merchantmen: An Old Song Re-sung . . . . 114 
 
 Stormy Dusk 116 
 
 The Lowland Sea 118 
 
 The Traveller 120 
 
 Salvage 123 
 
 War Risks 125 
 
 The Pirate's Only Delight 127 
 
 Clare's Brigade 128 
 
 — ^viii — 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Recruit 129 
 
 The Knitters 131 
 
 The Mouth-organ 132 
 
 The Furrow 134 
 
 After Dark 136 
 
 -IX- 
 
I: SAILOR TOWN 
 
' > » 1 ' 
 
 SAILOR TOWN 
 
 SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Along the wharves in sailor town a singing whisper 
 
 goes 
 Of the wind among the anchored ships, the wind 
 
 that blows 
 Off a broad brimming water, where the summer day 
 
 has died 
 Like a wounded whale a-sounding in the sunset tide. 
 
 There's a big China liner gleaming hke a gull, 
 And her lit ports fls^shing; there's the long gaunt 
 
 hull 
 Of a Blue Funnel freighter with her derricks dark 
 
 and still; 
 And a tall barque loading at the lumber mill. 
 
 And in the shops of sailor town is every kind of 
 
 thing 
 That the sailormen buy there, or the ships* crews 
 
 bring: 
 
 —11— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Bh4<^kJes; for- a,'<sea-chest and pink cockatoos, 
 Fifty-cent alarum clocks and dead men's shoes. 
 
 You can hear the gulls crying, and the cheerful 
 
 noise 
 Of a concertina going, and a singer's voice — 
 And the wind's song and the tide's song, crooning 
 
 soft and low 
 Rum old tunes in sailor town that seamen know. 
 
 I dreamed a dream In sailor town, a foolish dream 
 
 and vain. 
 Of ships and men departed, of old days come 
 
 again — 
 And an old song in sailor town, an old song to sing 
 When shipmate meets with shipmate in the evening. 
 
 —12— 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "MATTERHORN" 
 
 By Casey's Occidental Rooms, when the sun is get- 
 ting low, 
 
 The chattering crowds of Chinatown along the 
 pavements go, 
 
 And there you'U hear the wrangling gulls about the 
 harbour-side, 
 
 And see the ships come in which use the oceans deep 
 and wide. 
 
 And smell the smell o' the waterfront, the shipping 
 and the tide. 
 
 And there do meet all brands o' folk which on the 
 
 Coast are found, 
 From Behring Strait to Mexico, from 'Frisco and 
 
 the Sound, 
 The Dago and the Dutchman there, with all queer 
 
 breeds that be. 
 Stand up to drink with Jap and Chink beside the 
 
 sunset sea. 
 
 —13— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And there do swear and fight and lie and leave their 
 
 pay behind 
 The whalers and the tugboat men and the loggers 
 
 rolling blind; 
 And there the Siwash and the Sikh go jostling side 
 
 by side, 
 And sailormen blow out and in, like driftlogs tide 
 
 by tide. 
 
 By Casey's Occidental Rooms, as I was strolling by 
 And thinking over this and that, and things both 
 
 far and nigh, 
 There chanced to meet me face to face a man I used 
 
 to know. 
 That sailed with me in the "Matterhom" in a day 
 
 that's long ago. 
 
 And "Oh, Lord love you, Mike," I said, and took 
 
 him by the hand, 
 "Do you sail yet in the 'Matterhorn' and are you 
 
 long for land? 
 It's good to see your face again, these longshore 
 
 lads among, 
 To 'mind me of the 'Matterhom' and the time when 
 
 I was young." 
 •—14-- 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "MATTERHORN" 
 
 "If I had sailed in the *Matterhom' it is not here 
 
 I'd be, 
 And thirsty as the hob of hell as I am now," said 
 
 he, 
 "A bitter drink I'd sup among the cold and clammy 
 
 dead 
 If I had signed in the 'Matterhorn' when last she 
 
 sailed," he said. 
 
 "She's gone, and none but old Cape Stiff can tell 
 
 the when or how, 
 And them that watch the Hsts for her, they're tired 
 
 o' watching now; 
 Far down, far down in Dead Man's Bay both ship 
 
 and men do lie, 
 And the 'Lutine' bell has rung for her this many a 
 
 day gone by. 
 
 "I saw her sail from Salthouse Dock — the sun was 
 
 risin' red. 
 And 'See you next in Callao' my friends aboard her 
 
 said; 
 'Tween Callao and Liverpool a many ports there be, 
 And many men I'U meet again — but them I shall not 
 
 see. 
 
 —15— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 "Well, safe we got to Callao, but we were long 
 
 a-going, 
 The old tub leaking like a sieve, old Horn his hardest 
 
 blowing ; 
 The big seas swept her fore and aft; the sails they 
 
 cut like steel; 
 Our bodies to the yards they froze, our hands froze 
 
 to the wheel. 
 
 "And them that sailed before us came, and most 
 
 that since did sail, 
 They came all battered with the seas and broken 
 
 with the gale ; 
 And one that had been missing long, with sticks all 
 
 snapped and shorn 
 Limped in to tell her tale ashore, but not the 'Mat- 
 
 terhom.' 
 
 "So last we knew that she was gone, as best and 
 
 worst may go. 
 The good ship and the bad likewise, the fast ship 
 
 and the slow; 
 A fast ship was the *Matterhom* when all them 
 
 kites was spread, 
 A fast ship and a fine she was — " "Aye, she was 
 
 fast," I said. 
 
 « • • » • 
 
 —16— 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "MATTERHORN" 
 
 From course to skysail up she soared like a mid- 
 summer cloud; 
 
 In all this earth I have not seen a thing more 
 brave and proud; 
 
 And she is gone as dreams do go, or a song sung 
 long before, 
 
 Or the golden years of a man's youth when they 
 are his no more. 
 
 And all the shining moons of youth, and all the 
 stars of dream 
 
 Were tangled in her topmost spars and through 
 her shrouds did gleam; 
 
 Now thundering like a North Sea gale, now hum- 
 ming faint and low, 
 
 Came singing with her down the years the winds of 
 long ago. 
 
 By Casey's Occidental Rooms a bitter thing I heard. 
 With a heavy heart I turned away, and long I spoke 
 
 no word; 
 I bared my head there where I stood, "God rest her 
 
 soul," I said, 
 As if a woman I had loved in a far land was dead. 
 
 -17— 
 
BILL THE DREAMER 
 
 "Some day when I'm rich (said Bill) I'm going to 
 
 leave the sea, 
 Sail an' steam alike '11 see the livin' last o' me ; 
 And 'bout ship or heave her to, they'll rouse me out 
 
 no more. 
 In a clean quiet cottage like I've often seen ashore, 
 With hen and chickens, daisies growin' by the door. 
 
 **Quiet will the days come and easy will go, 
 Smoking of my pipe there and workin' with a hoe, 
 And thinkin' of poor mates o' mine toiling in the 
 
 cold 
 That hadn't sense to leave it an' they growing old. 
 
 **For when all's said and done, lads, it's little short 
 
 o' sin 
 To spend your money foolish that's bitter hard to 
 
 win; 
 I'll save my pay a year or two, and then I'll sail no 
 
 more. 
 Sitting down so easy in my little place ashore." 
 —18— 
 
BILL THE DREAMER 
 
 And so went his yarn on and so would he say — 
 Round the Horn with hurricanes blowing all the way, 
 All the way from Callao trudging home again 
 To the Bar light shining in the cold and rain. 
 
 But who's to keep from share and share with friends 
 
 o' the best? 
 And girls along the waterfront, they'll help to spend 
 
 the rest; 
 And the cottage and the garden and the daisies at 
 
 the door, 
 They went the way of many dreams when sailors 
 
 come to shore. 
 
 And he's rolling down to Rio with a drunken Dago 
 
 crew, 
 And the deadheads under hatches till they've got 
 
 their groaning through; 
 Yes, he's rolling down to Rio as he's often done 
 
 before, 
 And will do till the day comes for Bill to sail no 
 
 more. 
 When the ninth wave, the last wave, shall bring him 
 
 to shore! 
 
 —19— 
 
THE LAST OF THE SEALING FLEET 
 
 All in the slime of the stagnant Arm, the moulder- 
 ing slips beside, 
 
 Where dark as sin slinks out and in the fouled and 
 furtive tide, 
 
 There, slowly parting strake from strake, the poor 
 old sealers lie. 
 
 And whisper to the jostling booms of a brave day 
 gone by. 
 
 Unkept, uncaulked, their gaping decks are blistered, 
 
 bleached and bare; 
 Along their keels the chuckling ebb mocks at their 
 
 blind despair; 
 And ever like a ghostly tune through rotted ropes 
 
 and green 
 Runs the shrill keening of the wind and the long 
 
 sob between. 
 
 "Oh, south away to 'Frisco Bay the open seas do 
 
 roll, 
 And north to the white bear's hunting grounds 
 about the lonely Pole ; 
 —20— 
 
THE LAST OF THE SEALING FLEET 
 
 And at ratting time on the PribylofFs the lusting 
 
 seals do roar, 
 But we'll go out by Bretchie Ledge on the sealer's 
 
 road no more. 
 
 *'0h, north away from 'Frisco Bay the tumbling seas 
 
 roll, 
 Both wide and free to Behring's Sea which laps 
 
 around the Pole: 
 A thousand miles from 'Frisco Bay the feeding seal 
 
 may fare 
 With never a foe but the killer whale and the brown 
 
 man and the bear. 
 
 "Yestereen along the waterside I saw my captain go, 
 A weary and a broken man, with lagging step and 
 
 slow; 
 Salt was his blood as the salt tide and restless as the 
 
 sea, 
 And like the sea the wild blue eye that there (did 
 
 gaze on me. 
 
 " *01d ship,' he said, *when we were young together, 
 
 you and I, 
 A man's life I lived with men between the sea and 
 
 sky; 
 
 —21— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And would to God you had sunk deep and I also had 
 
 died 
 Who now upon the land decay as you rot in the 
 
 tide. 
 
 " *By God, it were a kindlier thing to make an end 
 
 with those 
 Which split upon the uncharted reef or splintered in 
 
 the floes 
 Than to cheat death a hundred times and last to 
 
 find the day 
 When a man's strength must fail from him and a 
 
 good ship decay. 
 
 "*And north away from 'Frisco Bay the plunging 
 
 seals do go, 
 But never a schooner plies that way of all we used 
 
 to know; 
 And there the spouting bowhead blows and the grey 
 
 gulls do soar. 
 But south or north though you go forth you'll find 
 
 us there no more.' " 
 
GERRANS CHURCHTOWN 
 
 The spire at Gerrans Churchtown, it stands up bold 
 
 and high, 
 It stands above the harbour and sees the ships go by ; 
 It sees the long tides breaking from the Gull to 
 
 Lizard Head, 
 The blue-lights and the searchlights, the living and 
 
 the dead. 
 
 The lads of Gerrans Churchtown, a roving breed, 
 
 are they. 
 With their mothers' milk they tasted the salt wind 
 
 and the spray; 
 The sea was first their playmate, he licked their feet 
 
 with foam, 
 The lads of Gerrans Churchtown that could not 
 
 bide at home. 
 
 The lads of Gerrans Churchtown, they're where 
 
 they're wanted now. 
 They cleave their fathers' furrow, their grandsires' 
 
 field they plough, — 
 
 ^23— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 A field of many acres from Scapa Flow to Nore, — 
 And the old men pull the lifeboat, and the young 
 lads watch the shore. 
 
 And will they come at long last? . . . Ay, surely 
 
 they will come, 
 Some day — a day to dream of — that brings the 
 
 Grand Fleet home — 
 From peril, toil and glory, and battles overpast, 
 The bells of Gerrans Churchtown shall ring them 
 
 home at last. 
 
 Will all them come together? . . . Not those 
 
 whose hearts are still 
 In a wider green God*s-acre than lies on Gerrans 
 
 hill; 
 It's a brighter sun they look on than sets in yonder 
 
 West, 
 And a sweeter bell than Gerrans' has rung them to 
 
 their rest. 
 
 —24^ 
 
THE OULD HAS-BEEN 
 
 All down by the harbour a-walking one day, 
 I saw an old hulk by the wharf-side that lay, 
 Her topmasts lopped off and her paint weathered 
 
 bare. 
 Red rust flaking off her, and no one to care. 
 
 Then met I a man standing lounging beside. 
 Who scornful did speak as he spat in the tide: 
 "There lies an ould has-been which once had the 
 
 name 
 Of a seagoing clipper, a clipper of fame! 
 
 "Time was when her races, with grain or with wool, 
 Were the talk of the crews, 'tween Bombay and the 
 
 Pool, 
 When the tales of her sailing like wildfire did fly 
 From Leith to Port Philip, from Cork to Shanghai. 
 
 "But now who's a glance for her, limping her round 
 With coal for the ferries that ply on the Sound? 
 And who that now sees her would know her the 
 
 same 
 Which once was a clipper, a clipper of fame?" 
 
 —25— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Oh, long I stood gazing there, sad to be told 
 How all men neglected her, now she grew old; 
 And my heart just to see her with pity was sore 
 F'or her, once so lovely, now lovely no more. 
 
 I marked the thick grime on her main-deck forlorn, 
 I marked the poor masts of her, woeful and shorn; 
 And all of my thought was that sure it was shame 
 To see such an end of that clipper of fame. 
 
 I thought of her sailing, so hopeful and proud, 
 The dawn on her sails like a mountain of cloud; 
 I thought of her battles, none stouter than she. 
 With the strength and the rage of her rival the sea. 
 
 Oh, better the sea that so long she did use 
 
 Should take her and break her as good ships would 
 
 choose. 
 Some chance of the storm or some mercy of flame 
 Should make a brave end of that clipper of fame. 
 
 I thought of her captains, how once they would 
 
 stand 
 So proud on the poop of their splendid command; 
 And all the good sailormen, each in his day 
 That loved her, and left her, and went on his way. 
 —26— 
 
THE OULD HAS-BEEN 
 
 Oh, scattered the world through to-day they must 
 
 be. 
 And some sleeping sound in the deeps of the sea; 
 And some will be old men grown grizzled and lame, 
 That were lads like myself in that clipper of fame. 
 
 But no one can steal from those stubborn old sides 
 The secrets she shares with the winds and the tides, 
 The tales that she tells of the sea and the sky 
 To the weed and the gulls and the ships going by. 
 
 And I took off my cap by the dingy wharf-side 
 To the grace and the glory, the strength and the 
 
 pride, 
 That all were her portion who once had the name 
 In a day that's gone by, of a clipper of fame. 
 
 —27— 
 
RIO GRANDE 
 
 There lies a ship at her moorings out there on 
 
 yonder stream; 
 Her lines upon the water are lovely like a dream. 
 And like a dream she'll slip away with the first 
 
 dawning gleam, 
 For she's bound for Rio Grande with the morning 
 
 tide. 
 Yes, she's bound for Rio Grande, and it's there that 
 
 I would be. 
 And every rope aboard of her is singing to be 
 
 free; 
 Oh, good-bye to your sweetheart dear and good-bye 
 
 to your bride 
 If you're bound for Rio Grande with the morning 
 
 tide! 
 
 I heard the seagulls piping round, and all they 
 
 seemed to say 
 Was, "Come you out, young sailorman, it's time to 
 come away, 
 —28-— 
 
RIO GRAND] 
 
 Oh, heave your donkey's breakfast in, there isn't 
 
 time to stay 
 If you're bound for Rio Grande with the morning 
 
 tide 
 If you're bound for Rio Grande away, and oceans 
 
 two or three. 
 And ports a plenty up and down for likely lads to 
 
 see. 
 All across the seas, Johnnie, round the world so 
 
 wide 
 Going out to Rio Grande with the morning tide." 
 
 The lights in Paddy Ryan's bar they're shining on 
 
 the shore; 
 Bid your friends good-bye, Johnnie, pay you now 
 
 your score, 
 For you don't want the sight nor smell o' the har- 
 bour any more; 
 When you're bound for Rio Grande with the 
 
 morning tide. 
 And "away my rolling river" — for the sun's put out 
 
 the stars 
 A-tangle in her royal yards, and the frost is on her 
 
 spars ; 
 Oh, the deep sea hunger's hold of her, and not to 
 
 be denied, 
 Going out to Rio Grande with the morning tide ! 
 
 —^9— 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE ONLY LOVE 
 
 Oh, have you been to the Rio Grande, or yet in 
 
 'Frisco town. 
 Or west away in Mobile Bay where they roll the 
 
 cotton down? 
 Oh, have you been in any place where sailors come 
 
 from sea, 
 And saw you there my only love that sends no word 
 
 to me? 
 
 Oh, does he walk with a yaller gal forgetting to be 
 
 true. 
 Or drink with pals in sailor-town as many sailors 
 
 do? 
 Does he with strangers fill his glass and to them 
 
 sing his song, 
 And never think of his only love — 
 
 His only love, his only love — 
 And never think of his own true love that waits for 
 
 him so long? 
 —30-^ 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE ONLY LOVE 
 
 "Yes, I have seen your only love, and spoken with 
 
 him also, 
 And it wasn't very far away nor very long ago ; 
 He said, 'Oh, tell my gal at home to forget me if she 
 
 can 
 And she'd better get another love that ain't a sailor- 
 
 "But he doesn't walk with no yaller gal, I tell you 
 
 straight and plain. 
 And there's never a pal in sailor-town '11 drink with 
 
 him again ; 
 We buried him out of an open boat a hundred miles 
 
 from shore, 
 And you'd better get another love — 
 
 Another love, another love — 
 Oh, you'd better get another love, for he'll come 
 
 home no more. 
 
 "Our ship was sunk in the light of day, as plenty 
 
 more have been. 
 In the North Atlantic homeward bound by a pirate 
 
 submarine, 
 And we was drifting many a day and food and 
 
 drink had none, 
 When a cruiser picked us up at last at the rising o' 
 
 the sun. 
 
 —31— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 "Your man was first to go, poor chap, he was 
 
 crazed-like in his head, 
 Along o' drinking sea-water, for all the captain 
 
 said. 
 'I'll marry my lass with a ring,' he'd say, *when I 
 
 get in from sea, 
 And she shall be my only love — 
 
 My only love, my only love — 
 Oh, she shall be my own dear love, for I know that 
 
 she loves me.' '* 
 
 Oh, cold, cold are the Atlantic deeps, and very wide 
 
 the sea. 
 With all its weight of stormy waves between my 
 
 love and me; 
 And wide and deep the tide o' time a-rolling year 
 
 on year. 
 But there'll be no parting after death for us that 
 
 loved so dear. 
 
 Oh, many a sailor will come home, and many a ship 
 
 from sea, 
 But never a ship on any tide will bring my lad to 
 
 me. 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE ONLY LOVE 
 
 And the long, long days they'll come and go, and 
 
 the lonely years pass by, 
 But I will keep my only love — 
 
 My only love, my only love — 
 Oh, I will keep my only love until the day I die! 
 
 -33— 
 
ROLLING HOME 
 
 Oh, there's places up and down that are queer and 
 
 quaint and pretty ; 
 Sydney's a pleasant port, 'Frisco's a giddy city ; 
 But the day's bound to come when your heart be- 
 gins to weary 
 Of big cities and small, gay cities and dreary, 
 For an island in the sea, and the kind rain falling. 
 When you break the anchor out, with your heart in 
 the hauling. 
 
 Heave, and wake the dead! . . . Oh, if folks 
 
 would do it for me. 
 It's I would carry on though the gales blew ne'er 
 
 so stormy; 
 Oh, if I was a Finn I would whistle up fair weather 
 All the way from here to England . . . oh, heave 
 
 together ! 
 
 Good, ah, good it is when you're young and all's 
 
 before ye. 
 For to leave the things you know and the old land 
 
 that bore ye, 
 —34— 
 
ROLLING HOME 
 
 For to know many lands and to see many places ; 
 But the warm English hearts and the kind English 
 
 faces. 
 But a fireside you know and a red fire there burning, 
 Good they are to think about when you're homeward 
 
 turning. 
 
 Heave and come she must .. ., . for to-morrow's 
 
 got to find us 
 Laying homeward all we know, kicking up the dust 
 
 behind us ; 
 We've a long road to travel, and the more that we 
 
 linger, ' 
 Why, the longer till we're home ,.j ,. ,.j so heave and 
 
 bring her! 
 
 Oh, we may be half a year or we may be rather 
 
 longer, 
 And if but the wind blow fair, then I wish it may 
 
 blow stronger; 
 Just a few thousand miles, or perhaps a little 
 
 further, 
 Just a few thousand miles till at long last we berth 
 
 her, 
 
 —86— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Till by harbour lights we know at the last we steer 
 
 in . . . 
 And if Christmas Day is past, why we'll bring the 
 
 New Year in I 
 
 Heave and break her out! . t. . We've a little way 
 
 to cover, 
 But we'll go all the way gay and lightly like a lover 
 With a posy for his lass and a ring for her 
 
 finger . . . 
 Heave and break her out .•j l»j l.. heave all, and 
 
 bring her I 
 
 -36— 
 
THE CHINA SEA 
 
 Did you see the poor old hooker, by the ocean wharf 
 
 she lay? 
 Her decks are foul with harbour grime, she hasn't 
 
 long to stay, 
 With her cargo all aboard her and the Peter flying 
 
 free, 
 And a seagull pn her foretop a-looking out to sea. 
 
 She's loaded up to the fairleads and down to the 
 
 PlimsoU line. 
 Her bilges choked and her bulkheads sprung, and 
 
 the pumps tied up with twine. 
 And it's fare you well, good comrades all, for aboard 
 
 her we must be: 
 A call or two we've got to pay, a call or two upon 
 the way, 
 
 From Liverpool to 'Frisco Bay, 
 
 And all across the China Sea. 
 Oh, think you of us, if you will, you friends we leave 
 
 at home, 
 A-listing like a log in the lone Atlantic foam ; 
 
 —37— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Oh think you of us now and then, ill-fitted and worse 
 
 found, 
 A-hanging on the skirts of luck this weary world 
 
 around. 
 
 They've changed her name and register, they'll 
 
 never change her soul; 
 For rolling of her innards out and eating up of 
 
 coal ; 
 There is no ship that sails the seas can far or near 
 
 compare 
 With this weary worn old packet from the port of 
 
 God knows where! 
 
 She'll drown us if she can, the jade, she's drowned 
 
 her man before; 
 She'll fling her rusty bones and ours to roll 'tween 
 
 shore and shore. 
 Or chartless on her drunken way go tumbling tide 
 
 by tide 
 To trip the feet of merchantmen which use the 
 
 oceans wide. 
 
 They rouse us not by night or day to spend our 
 
 watch below 
 In getting leaky lifeboats out and teaching cooks to 
 
 row; 
 —38— 
 
THE CHINA SEA 
 
 And if the worse should come, why then let ship and 
 
 all go down, 
 For we be only sailormen, and we are paid to drown. 
 
 Oh, turn you right and round about upon the 
 
 English shore; 
 Oh, look you long on England, lads, you may not 
 
 see her more; 
 And when we're out of soundings and the Biscay 
 
 gales do blow, 
 God help us if the cargo shifts, for then we're bound 
 
 to go. 
 
 And she's loaded up to the fairleads, and down to 
 
 the Plimsoll line. 
 Her bilges choked and her bulkheads sprung, and 
 
 the pumps tied up with twine: 
 And it's fare you well, good comrades all, for aboard 
 
 her we must be, 
 A call or two we've got to pay, a call or two upon 
 
 the way, 
 
 From Liverpool to 'Frisco Bay, 
 
 And all across the China Sea. 
 
 ^39— 
 
A CHANNEL RHYME 
 
 Stab, Point and Beachy Head 
 Tell their tale of quick and dead. 
 
 Forelands both and Dungeness 
 See many a ship in dire distress. 
 
 ,The Lizard and the Longships know 
 Oft the end of friend and foe. 
 
 And many and many a seaman's knell 
 Has been rung by Manacles bell. 
 
 Gull and Dodman ask aright 
 A wide berth on a dirty night. 
 
 Bolt Head and Bolt Tail 
 
 Are ill spots in a Channel gale. 
 
 Over nigh to Portland Bill 
 In Channel fog it's just as ill. 
 -40— 
 
A CHANNEL RHYME 
 
 And Wolf Rock and Seven Stones 
 Rest their feet on sailors' bones. 
 
 But from Nore Light to Cape Cornwall 
 Goodwin Sands are worst of all! 
 
 —4.1— 
 
RATHLIN HEAD 
 
 We left the murk of Merseyside, we left the flaring 
 town; 
 
 All smouldering red by Spanish Head the stormy 
 sun went down. 
 
 We saw the lamp blink out and in on the Mull o* 
 Galloway, 
 
 And at dead of night to Rathlin light a long good- 
 bye did say, 
 
 On a bitter cold night in the morning watch, 
 A little before the day! 
 
 Black deep of night without a star both sky and 
 
 sea did fiU; 
 So cautious crept we through the dark our engines 
 
 near stood still. 
 All salt like tears on rope and rail the sea mist 
 
 clinging grey . . . 
 And Rathlin Island close to port, Kintyre to star- 
 board lay. 
 
 On a bitter cold night in the morning watch, 
 A little before the day! 
 —42— 
 
RATHLIN HEAD 
 
 We heard across the blind black tide the lighthouse 
 
 boom forlorn, 
 All night we heard a Glasgow barque blowing the 
 
 old cow's horn; 
 And groping slow we passed her by a bare ship's 
 
 length away — 
 "A near thing with the barque," was all I heard the 
 
 old man say, 
 
 On a bitter cold night in the morning watch, 
 A little before the day! 
 
 All houseless stretch the unfenced fields that cold 
 
 and green do roll 
 Where winds do herd the berg and floe which calve 
 
 about the Pole, 
 Oh, peace be on the small green fields of a land 
 
 that's far away. 
 And on the little farms therein where folk a-sleep- 
 
 ing lay, 
 
 On a bitter cold night in the morning watch, 
 A little before the day! 
 
 And oh, good-bye the narrow seas and forelands 
 
 loud wi' foam! 
 There's many a turning in the road that brings the 
 
 sailor home; 
 
 —43— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Full speed once more our engines throbbed as faint 
 
 the east grew grey, 
 I turned my face to Rathlin Head, a long good-bye 
 to say, 
 
 On a bitter cold night in the morning watch, 
 A little before the day! 
 
THE SAILOR'S GARDEN 
 
 There's a soft wind singing in the idle rigging, 
 High tide splashing, and a young pale moon. 
 
 Lights in a window and a fiddle jigging 
 Over and over there the same short tune. 
 
 Oh, was it the tide along the ship's side sighing. 
 Or was it the singing wind that breathes and 
 blows. 
 
 Came like a voice across the deep seas crying. 
 Set my heart a- thinking how my garden grows? 
 
 Five years ago it was I planted roses. 
 Five years ago (the bush is grown a tree) : 
 
 Five years ago, and once I've seen my posies. 
 
 Five years ago — and once they bloomed for me! 
 
 I was home in Spring; bloom was on the May then, 
 Birds all were building and buds on the tree! 
 
 When the birds were flown, oh, I was far away then ; 
 When the rose was open I was far at sea. 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 I was home in Autumn ; winds of cold November 
 Shaking the leaf that shivered on the tree; 
 
 Brown leaves that sighed for sorrow to remember 
 Flowers that had fallen and I far at sea. 
 
 Oh, many are the roads that lead you here and 
 yonder, 
 Oh, many are the ways about the world that go ; 
 But the longest way of all's the sailor's way to 
 wander 
 To the good North Country and an isle I know. 
 
 Oh, many are the winds about the seas a-singing. 
 Oh, many are the songs "bhey sing both night and 
 noon: 
 But whether it be good or ill that they come bring- 
 ing 
 The best of all*s the wind that blows us home in 
 June. 
 
 Home, home in June — and soon to be a-going; 
 
 Home, home in June — ^we may not long remain; 
 Home, home in June, just to see the garden growing. 
 
 And then fare you well till you greet us home 
 again. 
 
 —46— 
 
MARKET DAY 
 
 As I rode on the limber 
 
 Through the old French market-square, 
 There were bricks and fallen timber 
 
 And shell-holes everywhere. 
 
 The place was blank as Sunday, 
 But something seemed to say: 
 
 "To-day is surely Monday, 
 And Monday's market day. 
 
 "Oh, all along the by-road 
 
 That goes by Three Maids Down, 
 
 And the long, straight Roman high-road, 
 They're driving in to town. 
 
 "They drive the colt in the gig now 
 
 I'd just begun to ride, 
 And the setter pup's grown big now, 
 
 And maybe runs beside. 
 
 "The gentry use 'The Garter,' 
 The farmers use 'The Plough,' 
 
 —47- 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And the rest 'The Jolly Carter,' 
 Or else the old 'Brown Cow.* 
 
 *'There are crowds o' horses baiting — 
 There's one in every stall — 
 
 And the carriers' carts stand waiting 
 Outside the Market Hall. 
 
 ^'There's a fellow selling halters, 
 And another hawking cloam, 
 
 For nothing ever alters 
 On market day at home." 
 
 Oh, I'll shake a leg and go there, 
 
 When leave comes round once more. 
 
 And all the folks I know there 
 Will stand in every door. 
 
 And, strolling down the street there, 
 On the sunny side o' the way. 
 
 There's a lass I'll maybe meet there 
 At home on market day. 
 
 --48-^ 
 
MOTHER CAREY 
 
 As late I went a-walking, a-walking by the sea, 
 I thought I heard men talking, I heard them call to 
 
 me: 
 "Oh, sorrow take the city streets and the weary 
 
 city stones, 
 It's time for you to leave them while the strength is 
 
 in your bones." 
 
 Ah, shake and wake her, Johnnie, there's the ship 
 
 for you, 
 Lying in the Royal Roads waiting for the crew, 
 And every brace and backstay is singing soft and 
 
 low, 
 "Mother Carey wants you and you're all bound to 
 
 go!" 
 
 As late I went a-strolHng, a-strolling by the shore, 
 And thought of ports I'd like to see I haven't seen 
 
 before. 
 Across the Strait the lighthouse kept winking fine 
 
 and free 
 To show me where the road is that leads to open sea. 
 
 —49— 
 
SAILOR T0V7N 
 
 Ah, shake and wake her, Johnnie, yonder where she 
 
 rides. 
 Lying in the Royal Roads swinging with the tides, 
 Singing with the muttering tides that past her cables 
 
 flow, 
 "Mother Carey wants you and you're all bound to 
 
 go!" 
 
 As late I went a-walking, a-walking by the tide, 
 I thought my love was with me and walking at my 
 
 side; 
 So kind she did reproach me, so sweet her eyes did 
 
 shine. 
 Yet could not hold beside her this restless heart of 
 
 mine. 
 
 "Ah, shake and wake her, Johnnie!" . . . don't 
 
 you hear them calling 
 Out across the I^oyal Roads and the dusk a-f ailing! 
 Time and time for me to leave you though I love 
 
 you so; 
 Mother Carey wants us and we're all bound to go I 
 
 All bound to go, Johnnie, all bound to go, 
 If it's late or early, lad, if you will or no. 
 Sure as sun will rise, Johnnie, sure as tides do flow, 
 When Mother Carey wants us we're all bound to 
 go! 
 
THE SHIP'S GOOD-BYE 
 
 I LEANED on the taffrail, I saw the day dying 
 Like a flock of gay birds round the royal yards 
 
 flying; 
 High over the sunset I saw the young moon, 
 And the wind and the tide they were singing one 
 
 tune. 
 
 "A hundred and fifty days out from Vancouver 
 (Don't you hear 'em all singing it over and over?) 
 A hundred and fifty days longer to roam 
 (Or less if you're lucky) to England and home!" 
 
 The ship took it up as she tugged at her tether, 
 Brace, footrope, and halliard all whistling together. 
 And so did the seagulls which round her did call — 
 But oh, my heart sang it the strongest of all! 
 
 There be many good songs we have knocked round 
 
 the world to. 
 Manned capstan and halliard, reefed, shifted and 
 
 furled to, 
 
 —51— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 All round the oceans, since first we did roll 
 
 By the Straits of Le Mair for Coquimbo with coal. 
 
 All round the world, lad, to ports without number, 
 Chile for nitrates, the F'raser for lumber, 
 Where charters might ofFer or cargoes might call, — • 
 But the homeward-bound chantey's the best of them 
 
 an. 
 
 "A hundred and fifty days out from Vancouver 
 Brings the ship to the land and the lad to his lover, 
 A hundred and fifty days longer to roam 
 (Or less if you're lucky) to England and homel'* 
 
 —52— 
 
"LET HER GO !" : A TRAMP CHANTY 
 
 'Ee keel was laid in 'seventy-four 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 They built 'er cheap, an' they scamped 'er sore, 
 'Er rivets was putty, 'er plates was poor. 
 An' then come in the Plimsoll line, 
 Or I wouldn't be singin' this song o' mine 
 (Let 'er go!) 
 
 She was cranky an' foul, she was stubborn an' slow 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 An' she shipped it green when it come on to blow ; 
 'Er crews was starved, an' the pay was low, 
 An' 'er bloomin' owners was ready to faint 
 At a scrape o' pitch or a penn'orth o' paint 
 (Let 'er go !) 
 
 But she's been 'ere, an' she's been there 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 An' she's been almost everywhere; 
 An' wherever you went you'd sure see '^r, 
 
 —53— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 With 'er rust-red hawse an' 'er battered old funnel, 
 All muck an' dirt from 'er keel to 'er gun'le 
 (Let 'er go !) 
 
 She's earned 'er keep in a number o' climes 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 She's changed 'er name a number o' times 
 Which won't fit right into these 'ere rhymes; 
 But the name of 'er now is the "Sound o' Mull" — 
 Built on the Tyne an' sails out of 'Ull — 
 (Let 'er go!) 
 
 'Er keel was laid in 'seventy-four 
 
 (Let 'er go — ^let 'er go!) 
 An' a breaker's price was 'er price before 
 The ships was scarce an' the freights did soar; 
 But she's fetched 'er fourteen pound a ton 
 On the Baltic Exchange since the war begun 
 (Let 'er go !) 
 
 So she's doin' 'er bit, which we all must do 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 An' whether she's old or whether she's new 
 Don't make much odds to a war-time crew ; 
 An' 'oever's sunk, or 'oever's drowned. 
 The "Sound o' Mull" keeps plugging around 
 (Let 'er go!) 
 —54— 
 
"LET HER GO!": A TRAMP CHANTY 
 
 An' when she goes, by night or by day, 
 
 (Let 'er go — let 'er go!) 
 Either up or down, as she likely may, 
 I only 'ope as somebody'll say: 
 " 'Er keel was laid in 'seventy-four, 
 She done 'er best, and she couldn't do more; 
 She warn't no swell, an' she wam't no beauty, 
 But she come by 'er end in the way of 'er duty 
 (Let 'ergo!)" 
 
 —55- 
 
HASTINGS MILL 
 
 As I went down by Hastings Mill I lingered in my 
 
 going 
 To smeU 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 
 (Shipmate, my shipmate!) as in days gone by. 
 
 As I went down by Hastings Mill I saw a ship 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 
 (Shipmate, my shipmate!) 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, 
 —56— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 The bollards where we made her fast and the berth 
 
 where she did lie 
 (Shipmate, my shipmate!) 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 
 (Shipmate, my shipmate!) 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 
 (Shipmate, my shipmate!) and the late dusk falling. 
 
 -^57— 
 
DEAD MAN'S BAY 
 
 I THOUGHT I heard the old man say 
 
 (Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!) 
 "Her course is set for Dead Man's Bay 
 
 (And it's time for us to leave her!) 
 Dead Man's Bay, where old ships lie 
 
 (Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!) 
 When deep-sea days are all gone by 
 
 (And it's time for us to leave her!)'* 
 
 Time for us to leave her, Johnnie, time to go ! 
 The same seas '11 toss us, the same winds blow: 
 We'll have our fun and folly, dreaming and desire, 
 And she gone to ashes on a landward fire. 
 
 Ah, the grand old days, Johnnie! — wind and 
 weather. 
 
 Days of sun and nights of storm we knew to- 
 gether, — 
 
 The game we played with old Cape Stiff, and our 
 lives the stake . . . 
 
 Turn and say good-bye, Johnnie, for old sake's 
 sake! 
 —^8— 
 
DEAD MAN'S BAY 
 
 Long and long after, far and far ?way, 
 Maybe you'll remember, maybe then you'll say. 
 When you hear an old name spoken or an old song 
 
 sung: 
 "Ay, once we sailed in her, when she and we were 
 
 young." 
 
 Old men nodding by a hearth ashore . . . 
 
 Old ships decaying that use the sea no more . . ;. 
 
 That's the way it goes, Johnnie, since the world 
 
 begun. 
 And it's time for us to leave her, for her day is done ! 
 
 And to Dead Man's Bay she's bound at last 
 
 (Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!) 
 Where storm and shine alike are past 
 
 (And it's time for us to leave her!) 
 No more labour, no more laughter, 
 
 (Leave her, Johnnie, leave her!) 
 One more watch and a long sleep after 
 
 (And it's time for us to leave her!) 
 
 —59— 
 
THE GREEN THICKET 
 
 Ai.ii in a green thicket I heard a bird sing, 
 
 And blithe though his song was it made the tears 
 
 spring, 
 To hear the bird sing as he swung on his spray, 
 All in a green thicket at break of the day. 
 
 All in a green thicket his song he did pour 
 That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore, 
 That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry. 
 All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by. 
 
 All m a green thicket that morning in Spring, 
 I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing, 
 I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew. 
 And the time that's gone from me was with me anew. 
 
 All in a green thicket at break of the day 
 It was like the dear voice of a friend far away, 
 It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know. 
 And the smiles and the tears of dead Aprils ago. 
 —60— 
 
THE GREEN THICKET 
 
 All in a green thicket one morning of Spring, 
 For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird 
 
 sing, 
 Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way, 
 All in a green thicket at break of the day. 
 
 --61— 
 
Ik DECLARATION OF WAR 
 
 This is the yam that M'Larty told by the brazier 
 
 fire, 
 Where over the mud-filled trenches the star-shells 
 
 blaze and expire — 
 A yarn he swore was a true one; but Mac was an 
 
 awful liar. 
 
 " 'Way up in the wild North country, a couple of 
 
 years ago, 
 I hauled Hank out of a snowdrift — it was maybe 
 
 thirty 'below' — 
 And I packed him home to my shanty, and I took 
 
 and thawed him with snow. 
 
 **He was stiff as a cold-store bullock, I might have 
 
 left him for dead, 
 But I packed him along, as I've told you, and melted 
 
 him out instead. 
 And I rolled him up in my blankets and put him to 
 
 sleep in my bed. 
 —62— 
 
A DECLARATION OF WAR 
 
 "So he dwelt in my humble shanty while the wintry 
 
 gales did roar, 
 While the blizzards howled in the passes and the 
 
 timber wolves at the door, 
 And he slept in m^^ bunk at night-time while I 
 
 stretched out on the floor. 
 
 "He watched me frying my bacon, and he said that 
 
 the smell was grand, 
 He watched me bucking the stove-wood, but he never 
 
 lent me a hand, 
 And he played on my concertina the airs of his 
 
 native land. 
 
 "And one month grew into two months, and two 
 months grew into three; 
 
 And there he was sitting and smiling like a bloom- 
 ing Old Man of the Sea, 
 
 Eating my pork and beans up, and necking my 
 whiskey and tea. 
 
 **You say, 'Why didn't I shift him'?— Fbr the life 
 
 of me I dunno, 
 I suppose there's something inside me that can't tell 
 
 a fellow to go 
 I hauled by the heels from a snowdrift at maybe 
 
 thirty 'below.' 
 
 —63— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 "But at last when the snows were going, and the 
 
 blue spring skies were pale, 
 Out after bear in the valley, I met a chap on the 
 
 trail, 
 A chap coming up from the city, who stopped and 
 
 told me a tale. 
 
 "A tale of murders and hold-ups all over the land 
 
 and sea. 
 And when he was through I was laughing, for the 
 
 joke of it seemed to be 
 Hank's folks had been acting that way while Hank 
 
 was rooming with me. 
 
 "So off I hiked to the shanty, and never a word I 
 
 said, 
 I floated in like a cyclone, I yanked him out of my 
 
 bed. 
 And I grabbed the concertina and I smashed it over 
 
 his head. 
 
 "I shook him up for a minute, I stood him down on 
 the floor, 
 
 I grabbed the scruff^ of his trousers and I ran him 
 along to the door. 
 
 And I said, *This here, if you get me, is a Decla- 
 ration of War!' 
 —64— 
 
A DECLARATION OF WAR 
 
 "And I gave him a hoist with my gum-boot, a kind 
 
 of a lift with my toe, 
 But you can't give a fellow a hiding, as any one 
 
 sure must know, 
 You hauled by the heels from a snowdrift at maybe 
 
 thirty *below."' 
 
 —65— 
 
THE PRAIRIE SHEPHERD 
 
 (Baa, baa, black sheep! — whose fault but your own 
 That you're here on the western prairie, herding the 
 
 sheep alone, — 
 Here in a wide and lonely land, by the stranger's 
 
 fold,— 
 Oh, rise and go to your father; he's growing weary 
 
 and old.) 
 
 « « « « # 
 
 Poets talk about shepherds, and the wonderful tiines 
 
 thej^'ve got 
 Playing tunes to Amaryllis, and all such rot ! 
 And it might be better than nothing for passing the 
 
 time away 
 If you'd got a girl to talk to, or a penny whistle to 
 
 play. 
 
 I was a fool and I'm paying — ^I'm on a job that 
 
 would beat 
 The other prodigal hollow, with the husks that the 
 
 swine did eat, 
 —66— 
 
THE PRAIRIE SHEPHERD 
 
 Wouldn't I think I was lucky if I'd plenty of pigs 
 
 to keep ! 
 They're sociable sort of creatures — if you've ever 
 
 lived among sheep. 
 
 All the way to the Rocky Mountains, nothing to 
 
 see. . . . 
 Bare and bald and droughty and dusty, and never 
 
 a tree! 
 Never a voice to hail you, only a hawk's lone cry 
 Hanging there aloft like a speck in the aching sky. 
 
 Only the dry grass stirring, only the weary wind 
 Seeming to sigh for the people and places you left 
 
 behind : 
 And I wonder how long I'll stand it before I'm crazy 
 
 and grey. 
 With the sheep bleating, bleating aU the night and 
 
 the day. 
 
 God! will they always be at it in that everlasting 
 
 old tone. 
 Telling me over and over the things I have loved and 
 
 known. 
 Keeping my heart from forgetting, no matter how 
 
 hard I try, 
 The various kinds of a fool I was in the years gone 
 
 by. . . . 
 
 —67— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 (Baa, baa, black sheep! ... no one's fault but 
 
 your own 
 That you're here on the western prairie, herding 
 
 your sheep alone, — 
 No one but God around to see you, and pity your 
 
 tears 
 For the things you wish you could alter, back there 
 
 in the bygone years.) 
 
 —68— 
 
TRAVELLER'S REST 
 
 When you are tired of the long road and the open 
 
 sky, 
 I wish it may be my door that you're passing by : 
 I wish it may be my hearth where you will sit down 
 And tell your tales of the land and sea and the 
 
 strange far town. 
 
 Oh, come you in from eastward or come you from 
 
 the west, 
 Here's good cheer to greet you and welcome of the 
 
 best: 
 Oh come you with your pockets full or come you 
 
 home poor. 
 Here's a place by the fireside and an open door. 
 
 You'll tell me where you were since, and the things 
 
 you've seen 
 Up and down the wide world where so long you've 
 
 been, — 
 All the tkne that I've been here and you far away, — 
 And then awhile be silent, as good friends may. 
 
 —69— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And then awhile listen to the wind and rain, 
 Moaning in the chimney-breast, beating at the 
 
 pane, — 
 Dark and cold outside there, and the stormy skies, 
 And you sitting down here with the firelight in your 
 
 eyes. 
 
 —70— 
 
SHIPMATE SORROW 
 
 I WAS shipmate with Sorrow in a day gone by; 
 We shared wheel and look-out, old Sorrow and I; 
 Good times and bad times, foul weather and fair, 
 The old grey face of him was always there. 
 
 There wa« never chanty raised there, never song I 
 
 heard. 
 But his voice would be in it like a crying bird ; 
 I was dull in the dog watches, when the laugh went 
 
 free. 
 Because of old Sorrow sitting down by me. 
 
 I thought I could lose him in the stir and change 
 Of bright, wicked cities, all sunlit and strange ; 
 There came a hand at my elbow and a voice in my 
 
 ear — 
 It was old patient Sorrow saying: "Lad, I'm here!" 
 
 And by the bustling harbour, up the busy street. 
 Many a time I see him, many a time I meet 
 The old grey face there of one I used to know — 
 And it's old shipmate Sorrow out of long ago. 
 
 —71— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And the watch at the halliards they may sing with 
 
 a will, 
 But the voice I used to hear — oh, I sometimes hear 
 
 it still. 
 Like a wind in a shroud piping, or a seabird's cry — 
 And it's old Sorrow singing out of times gone by! 
 
 -72— 
 
THE RHYME OF THE "INISFAIL" 
 
 LiMEHOUSE way, the other day, as I did chance to 
 
 be, 
 I met with a hairy sailorman, was shipmate once 
 
 with me, 
 With his short black pipe between his teeth, and 
 
 his tarry dungaree. 
 
 I gripped him by the elbow then ; he swung upon his 
 heel 
 
 (And oh, that deep-sea speech to hear, that rope- 
 hard hand to feel. 
 
 It brought me back the younger years, the look-out 
 and the wheel! 
 
 The way of a ship in the great waters where the 
 
 flying-fishes are, 
 A creaking block, and the reef-points tapping, and 
 
 a far Southern star. 
 And the smell of nitrates, and new lumber, and paint 
 
 and Stockholm tar). 
 
 —73— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And "What's the news now up and down?" and 
 
 "Where's your ship?" I cried, 
 "Greenland Basin or Martin's Wharf?" He turned 
 
 and spat aside. 
 "She's dockin' far from here this night on a late, 
 
 long tide. 
 
 "An' I came home in steam," he said, "I never 
 thought to do, 
 
 In a sooty, smeary cargo-tank, with a greasy steam- 
 boat crew; 
 
 An' if you'd know the why of it I'll tell ye plain an' 
 true. 
 
 "I sailed last June from Carrizal — no call to tell 
 
 the tale 
 Of every bit of a blow we had an' every Cape Horn 
 
 gale— 
 In an old-time Clyde-built packet that was named 
 
 the InisfaU, 
 
 **One o' them ships with painted ports that Gow of 
 
 Glasgow had 
 In the great old days of the wool-clippers when I 
 
 was but a lad; 
 An' she was one o' the best o' them ; their worst was 
 
 never bad. 
 —74— 
 
THE RHYME OF THE "INISFAIL' 
 
 "All fuU-rigged ships in them days too, I've heard 
 
 old shellbacks say; 
 The Inisfail was near the last, an' she had had her 
 
 day 
 When they cut the half of her sail-plan down and 
 
 her mizzen yards away." 
 
 "Why, well I knew the Inisfail" I said, "and weU 
 
 should know ; 
 She lay with us in Taltal once, and once in Callao, 
 The time I sailed in the nitrate trade, a sight o' 
 
 years ago. 
 
 "A woman with a harp she had by way of figure- 
 head. 
 
 And shamrocks all about her dress like golden stars 
 were spread; 
 
 A bonnier thing was never carved." "That's her," 
 Mike sighed and said. 
 
 "Ay, well, she's gone, the Inisfail; her split an' 
 
 broken huU, 
 It does not lie by the Seven Stones, the Brisons nor 
 
 the Gull, 
 Where many a bumpin' cargo lies an' many a dead 
 
 man's skull. 
 
 —75— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 "But fifty miles from Fastnet Light, in the wide 
 and open sea, 
 
 Where the seagulls meet the homeward bound, close- 
 hauled or running free. 
 
 It's there I left the Inisfail in the place where she 
 left me. 
 
 ^ ^ * ¥^ * 
 
 "A shadow like a shark, I saw the damned torpedo 
 
 glide; 
 Like a sunken reef it jarred her ribs, it rippe<l 
 
 her loaded side 
 As the killer rips the mother-whale in the red Beh- 
 
 ring tide. 
 
 "We did not need the soundin'-rod to try the depth 
 
 below ; 
 By the feel of her beneath our feet we could not 
 
 help but know 
 She'd never fetch a port no more, an' 'twas time 
 
 for us to go. 
 
 "So we cast the long-boat's lashin's loose, we hove 
 it over the rail 
 
 (An' we blessed our luck, as we tumbled in, it wasn't 
 blowin' a gale), 
 
 An' we stood off an' on, to see the last of the Inis- 
 fail. 
 —76— 
 
THE RHYME OF THE "INISFAIL' 
 
 "We had not got the sail off her ; with all her cloths 
 
 agleam 
 She looked as lovely as a bird, as peaceful as a 
 
 dream, 
 As she lay with her mainyard aback an' liftin* on 
 
 the stream. 
 
 "We could see the smoke from the galley-fire, in 
 
 little puffs that blew, 
 An' the brasswork winkin' in the sun an' the gilt 
 
 vane flashin' too, 
 An' the shark's tail at her bowsprit end, an' a score 
 
 o' things we knew. 
 
 "We sat an' watched for the end of her — we hardly 
 
 spoke or stirred ; 
 'She'll maybe float,' said some one then. He scarce 
 
 had shaped the word 
 When she shivered an' lurched like a meltin' berg 
 
 and dived like a wounded bird. 
 
 "An' she'll never know the stars an' the wind no 
 
 more, the sun an' the blue, 
 Never the kiss of the Trade again, never the sound 
 
 o' the crew 
 An' they chantyin' up the anchor in one o' them 
 
 ports she knew. 
 
 —77— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 An' no one '11 ever be cold or hungry, battered or 
 
 sore, 
 Or do a job of work aboard of 'er any more, 
 Or lift a stave at the halliards the same as they 
 
 used before. 
 
 *'No one 'U doze in the black shadows when the 
 
 moon's yellow as com, 
 Or sing songs in the dog watches, or wish he was 
 
 never bom, 
 Fistin' them big courses of hers down there off the 
 
 pitch o' the Horn. 
 
 "Nor they won't sell her or scrap her now when 
 
 workin' days are done; 
 She won't rust in the breaker's yard nor lie an' rot 
 
 in the sun 
 Like an old broken sailorman whose yarn's nearly 
 
 spun. y^ 
 
 "For she lies deep, the Inisfail — ay, deep she Kes 
 
 an' drowned. 
 Farther 'n ever a wave will stir an' deeper 'n lead 
 
 can sound — 
 Fifty mile from Fastnet Light an' homeward 
 
 bound ..." 
 
 —-78— 
 
II: THE NAVAL CROWN 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "EASTERN 
 CROWN" 
 
 I've sailed in 'ookers plenty since first I went to 
 
 sea — 
 An' sail or steam, an' good or bad, was all alike to 
 
 me; 
 There's some 'ave tried to starve me, an' some 'ave 
 
 tried to drown — 
 But I never met the equal o' the "Eastern Crown." 
 
 'Er funnel's like a chimley, 'er sides is like a tub. 
 An' pay is middlin' scanty, an' likewise so is 
 
 grub; 
 She's 'ard to beat for steerin' bad, she's 'ard to beat 
 
 for grime, 
 An' rollin' is 'er 'obby — oh, she's rollin' all the time ! 
 
 Rollin' down to Singapore — rollin' up to Maine — 
 Rollin' round to Puget Sound, and then 'ome 
 
 again ! 
 A long roll, an' a short roll, an' a roll in between, 
 An' the crew cursin' rosy when she ships it green! 
 
 —81— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 We sailed for Philadelphia, New York an' Montreal, 
 Dischargin' general cargo at our various ports o' 
 
 call; 
 We knocked about a year or so 'tween Callao an' 
 
 Nome, 
 An' then to Portland, Oregon, to load with deals for 
 
 She's met with accidents a few (which is her usual 
 way); 
 
 She scraped the bowsprit off a barque in San Fran- 
 cisco Bay ; 
 
 She's shed propeller blades an' plates wherever she 
 'as been . . . 
 
 An' last she's fouled 'er bloomin' screw on a Ger- 
 man submarine! 
 
 Rollin' in the sunshine — rollin' in the rain — 
 RoUin' up the Channel — an' we're 'ome again! 
 A long roll, an' a short roll, an' a roll in between. 
 An' the crew cursin' rosy when she ships it green! 
 
 As on the 'igh an' draughty bridge I stood my wheel 
 
 one day, 
 "If we should sight a submarine" (I 'eard the old 
 
 man say) 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE "EASTERN CROWN" 
 
 "I'd do as Admirals retired an' other folks 'ave 
 
 said, 
 I'd run the old Red Duster up an' ring 'Full speed 
 
 ahead' ; 
 
 "I'd sink before I'd 'eave 'er to or 'aul my colours 
 
 down; 
 By Gosh, they'll catch a Tartar if they catch the 
 
 'Eastern Crown'! 
 I've thought it out both 'igh an' low, an' this seems 
 
 best to me — 
 Pursoo a zig-zag course" ('e says) "an' see what I 
 
 shall see!" 
 
 Rollin' through the Doldrums — rollin' in the foam — 
 Rollin' by the Fastnet — an' we're nearly 'ome : 
 A long roll, an' a short roll, an' a roll in between. 
 An' the crew cursin' rosy when she ships it green! 
 
 'E said it, an' 'e meant it, an' 'e acted as he said 
 When sure enough we sighted one abeam o' Lizard 
 
 'Ead; 
 You should 'ave 'eard the engines grunt — you 
 
 should 'ave seen 'er roll! 
 She was beatin' all 'er records as they shovelled on 
 
 the coal! 
 
 —83— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 They missed us by a spittin' length — 'er rollin' 
 
 served 'er well, 
 But it served 'er better after, as you're goin' to 'ear 
 
 me tell; 
 For she some'ow rolled 'erself atop o' the bloomin' 
 
 submarine . . . 
 An' the oil upon the waters was the last of it we 
 
 seen. 
 
 Rollin' up to London Town (an' down by the bow) ; 
 Rollin' 'ome to Surrey Docks — ain't we 'eroes now! 
 A long roll, an' a. short roll, an' a roll in between, 
 An' the crew cursin' rosy as she ships it green! 
 
 84— 
 
BRITISH MERCHANT SERVICE, 1915 
 
 Oh, down by Millwall Basin as I went the other day, 
 I met a skipper that I knew, and to him I did say : 
 "Now what's the cargo, captain, that brings you 
 up this way?" 
 
 "Oh, I've been up and down (he said) and round 
 
 about also . . . 
 From Sydney to the Skager-rack, and Kiel to 
 
 Callao . . . 
 With a leaking steam-pipe all the way to Cali- 
 
 fom-i-o. . . . 
 
 "With pots and pans and ivory fans and every kind 
 
 of thing. 
 Rails and nails and cotton bales and sewer-pipes 
 
 and string — 
 But now I'm through with cargoes, and I'm here to 
 
 serve the King! 
 
 "And if it's sweeping mines (to which my fancy 
 somewhat leans) 
 
 —85— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Or hanging out with booby traps for the skulking 
 submarines . . . 
 
 I'm here to do my blooming best and give the beg- 
 gars beans ! 
 
 "A rough job and a tough job is the best job for 
 
 me, 
 And what or where I don't much care, I'll take what 
 
 it may be, 
 For a tight place is the right place when it's foul 
 
 weather at sea!" 
 
 There's not a port he doesn't know from Melbourne 
 
 to New York; 
 He's as hard as a lump of harness-beef and as salt 
 
 as pickled pork; 
 And . . . he'll stand by a wreck in a murdering 
 
 gale, and count it part of his work! 
 
 He's the terror of the foc's'le when he heals its 
 
 various ills 
 With turpentine and mustard leaves and poultices 
 
 and pills . . . 
 But he knows the sea like the palm of his hand, as 
 
 a shepherd knows the hills. 
 —86— 
 
BRITISH MERCHANT SERVICE, 1915 
 
 He'll spin you yarns from dawn to dark . . .and 
 
 half of 'em are true ! 
 He swears in a score of languages, and maybe talks 
 
 in two! . . . 
 And he'll lower a boat in a hurricane to save a 
 
 drowning crew! 
 
 A rough job or a tough job — ^he's handled two or 
 
 three, 
 And what or where he won't much care, nor ask what 
 
 the risk may be . . , 
 For a tight place is the right place when there's wild 
 
 weatlier at sea! 
 
 — 8T- 
 
THE YOUNGER SON 
 
 The Younger Son he's earned his bread in ways 
 
 both hard and easy 
 From Parramatta to the Pole, from Yukon to 
 
 Zambesi ; 
 Fbr young blood is roving blood, and a far road's 
 
 best, 
 And when you're tired of roving there'll be time 
 
 enough to rest! 
 
 And it's "Hello" and *'How d'ye do?" "How's the 
 
 world been using you? 
 Thought you were in Turkestan or China or 
 
 Peru!"— 
 It's a long trail in peace-time where the roving 
 
 Britons stray . . . 
 But in war-time, in war-time, it's just across the 
 
 way! 
 
 He's left the broncos to be bust by who in thunder 
 
 chooses ; 
 He's left the pots to wash themselves in Canada's 
 
 cabooses ; 
 —88— 
 
THE YOUNGER SON 
 
 He's left the mine and logging camp, the peavie, 
 
 pick and plough, 
 For young blood is fighting blood, and England 
 
 needs him now! 
 
 And it's "HeUo" and "How d'ye do?" "Who'd ha' 
 
 thought of meeting you ! 
 What's the news of Calgary, Quebec and Cariboo?" 
 It's a long trail in peace-time where the roving 
 
 Britons stray, 
 But in war-time, in war-time, it's just across the 
 
 way! 
 
 He's travelled far by many a trail, he's rambled 
 
 here and yonder. 
 No road too rough for him to tread, no land too 
 
 wide to wander; 
 For young blood is roving blood, and the spring 
 
 of life is best. 
 And when all the fighting's done, lad, there's time 
 
 enough to rest. 
 
 And it's good-bye, tried and true, here's a long* 
 
 farewell to you 
 (Rolling stone from Mexico, Shanghai or Timbuc- 
 
 too)! 
 
 —89— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Young blood is roving blood, but the last sleep is 
 
 best. 
 When the fighting all is done, lad, and it*s time to 
 
 rest! 
 
 —90-- 
 
THE NORTH SEA GROUND 
 
 Oh, Grimsby is a pleasant town as any man may 
 
 find, 
 An' Grimsby wives are thrifty wives, an' Grimsby 
 
 girls are kind; 
 An' Grimsby lads have never yet been lads to lag 
 behind 
 
 When there's men's work doin' on the North 
 Sea ground. 
 
 An' it's "Wake up, Johnnie" . . . for the high 
 
 tide's flowin'. 
 An' off the misty waters a cold wind blowin' ; 
 Skipper's come aboard, an' it's time that we were 
 goin'. 
 
 An' there's fine fish waitin' on the North 
 Sea ground! 
 
 Soles in the Silver Pit . . . an' there we'll let 'em 
 
 lie! 
 Cod on the Dogger . . . oh, we'll fetch 'em by an' 
 
 by! 
 
 —91— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 War on the waters . . . an' it's time to serve an' 
 die, 
 
 For there's wild work doin' on the North Sea 
 ground. 
 
 An' it's "Wake up, Johnnie" . . . they want you 
 
 at the trawlin' 
 (With your long sea-boots an' your tarry old tar- 
 paulin) ; 
 All across the bitter seas duty comes a-callin'. 
 
 In the winter's weather off the North Sea 
 ground. 
 
 It's well we've learned to laugh at fear (the sea has 
 
 taught us how) ; 
 It's well we've shaken hands with death — we'll not be 
 
 strangers now. 
 With death in every climbin' wave before the 
 trawler's bow, 
 
 An' the black spawn swimmin' on the North 
 Sea ground. 
 
 Good luck to all our fightin' ships that rule the Eng- 
 lish sea; 
 
 Good luck to our brave merchantmen wherever they 
 may be; 
 —92— 
 
THS NOBTH SEA GROUND 
 
 The Sea it is their highway, and we've got to sweep 
 it free 
 
 For the ships passing over on the North Sea 
 ground. 
 
 An' it's "Wake up, Johnnie" . . . for the sea 
 
 wind's cry in', 
 "Time an' time to go where the herrin' gulls are 
 
 flyin' "— 
 An' down below the stormy seas the dead men lyin', 
 Oh, the dead lyin' quiet on the North Sea 
 ground! 
 
 -93— 
 
ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE 
 
 White Star, Cunard, 
 
 Great ships and small — 
 Gallant British merchantmen. 
 
 Here's to each and all! 
 Union Castle, Orient, 
 
 From Shankhai to Dover, 
 Fighting British merchantmen 
 
 All the world over! 
 
 « « « « II 
 
 What is the house-flag? . . . 
 
 The same that's yours and mine — * 
 In fair weather and foul weather 
 
 The flag of the British Line! 
 
 What trade is this ye sail in? . . . 
 
 An ancient trade and bold; 
 Drake's trade, Blake's trade 
 
 It was in days of old — 
 
 To mar the might of tyrants, 
 To keep the highway free, 
 —94— 
 
ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE 
 
 And hold against all comers 
 The lordship of the sea! 
 
 Whence comes your right of service? . , 
 
 By right of breed and birth ! 
 And where had ye your schooling? . . . 
 
 In all the seas of earth; 
 
 'Tween the Lizard and Cape Leeuwin, 
 From the Fastnet to the Horn, 
 
 We learnt the stem old lessons 
 None learn but seamen born. 
 
 What cargo do ye carry? . . . 
 
 Full freight of death and fame, 
 And the men of the White Ensign 
 
 Of the Red shall think no shame ! 
 
 When the day is darkened with battle. 
 And the seas are sown with the dead. 
 
 The pride of the White Ensign 
 Shall he the pride of the Red! 
 
 Honour and pride both far and wide, 
 
 Where'er the salt tides run, 
 And a long sleep, the last sleep. 
 
 For them whose watch is done! 
 
 —95- 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Cunard, White Star, 
 
 Great ships and small — 
 Gallant British merchantmen, 
 
 Here's to each and all! 
 Royal Mail, P. and O., 
 
 Ftom Shanghai to Dover, 
 Fighting British merchantmen 
 
 All the world over! 
 
 —96— 
 
THE "ORION'S" FIGUREHEAD AT 
 WHITEHALL 
 
 A-Lij wind and rain, the clouds fled fast across the 
 
 evening sky — 
 Whitehall aglimmer like a beach the tide has late left 
 
 dry — 
 And there I saw the figurehead which once did grace 
 
 the bow 
 Of the old bold "Orion"— 
 
 The fighting old "Orion" in the days that 
 are not now. 
 
 And I wondered did he dream at all of those great 
 
 fights of old 
 And ships from out whose oaken sides Trafalgar's 
 
 thunder rolled ; 
 There were "Ajax," "Neptune," "Temeraire," 
 
 "Revenge," "Leviathan," 
 With the old bold "Orion"— 
 
 The fighting old "Orion" when "Victory" 
 led the van. 
 
 —97— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Old ships, their ribs are ashes now . . . but still 
 
 the names they bore 
 And still the hearts that manned them live to sail 
 
 the seas once more — 
 To sail and fight, and watch and ward, and strike 
 
 as stout a blow 
 As the old bold "Orion," 
 
 The fighting old "Orion" in the wars of 
 long ago. 
 
 They watch, the grey and silent ships, like death as 
 
 bleak and stern; 
 They wait (not yet, not yet has dawned the day for 
 
 which they bum) : 
 They're ware and waiting for the word that sets 
 
 their thunders free, 
 Like the old bold "Orion," 
 
 The fighting old "Orion" when Nelson 
 sailed the sea. 
 
 Oh, waiting is a weary game — but Nelson played it 
 
 too! 
 And be it late or be it soon, such work is yet to do 
 Your starry namesake never saw who walked the 
 
 midnight sky 
 (Old bold "Orion"— 
 
 Fighting old "Orion"!) in the great old 
 years gone by. 
 —98^ 
 
THE "ORION'S" FIGUREHEAD AT WHITEHALL 
 
 And be the game a waiting game we'll play it with 
 
 the best; 
 Or be the game a watching game we'll watch and 
 
 never rest ; 
 But the fighting game it pays for all when the guns 
 
 begin to play 
 (Ah, bold "Orion"— 
 
 Fighting old "Orion"! as you heard 'em 
 yesterday!). 
 
 —99— 
 
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 
 
 I noDE into Pincher River on an August afternoon — ■ 
 The pinto's hoofs on the prairie drumming a drowsy 
 
 tune — 
 By the shacks and the Chinks' truck-gardens to the 
 
 Athabasca Saloon. 
 
 And a bunch of the boys was standing around by 
 
 the old Scotch Store, 
 Standing and spitting and swearing by old Mac- 
 
 allister's door, 
 And the name on their lips was Britain — the word 
 
 that they spoke was "War"! 
 
 War! . . . Do you think I waited to talk about 
 
 wrong or right 
 When I knew my own old country was up to the 
 
 neck in a fight? 
 I said "So long"— and I beat it— "I'm hitting the 
 
 trail to-night!" 
 —100— 
 
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 
 
 I wasn't long at my packing; I hadn't much time 
 
 to dress; 
 And the cash I had at disposal was a ten-spot (more 
 
 or less), 
 So I didn't wait for my ticket — I booked by the 
 
 hoboes' express. 
 
 I rode the bumpers at night-time; I beat the ties in 
 the day, 
 
 Stealing a ride and humming a ride all of the bloom- 
 ing way, 
 
 And ... I left the First Contingent drilling at 
 Valcartier ! 
 
 I didn't cross in a liner (I hadn't my passage by 
 
 me!) 
 I spotted a Liverpool cargo tramp, smelly and 
 
 greasy and grimy, 
 And she wanted hands for the voyage, and the old 
 
 man guessed he'd try me. 
 
 She kicked like a ballet dancer or a range-bred 
 
 bronco mare; 
 She rolled till her engines rattled — she wallowed, 
 
 but what did I care? 
 It was, "Go it, ni}^ bucking beauty, if only you'll 
 
 take me there !" 
 
 —101- 
 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Then . . .came an autumn morning, grey-blue, 
 
 windy and clear. 
 And the fields — the little white houses — green, and 
 
 peaceful, and dear — 
 And the heart inside o' me saying: "Take me, 
 
 Mother, I'm here! 
 
 "Here, for I thought you'd want me; IVe brought 
 
 you all that I own, 
 A lean long lump of a carcass that's mostly muscle 
 
 and bone — 
 Six foot two in my stockings — weigh-in at fourteen 
 
 stone ! 
 
 "Here, and I hope you'll have me — take me for 
 
 what I'm worth, 
 A chap that's a bit of a waster, come from the ends 
 
 of the earth, 
 To fight with the best that's in him for the dear old 
 
 land of his birth l" 
 
 —102— 
 
CAPTAIN PAUL JONES 
 
 Cap'n Paul Jones was a Britisher born, lie hailed 
 
 from the Solway shore, 
 But he struck a snag with his folks at home, as 
 
 many have done before; 
 He shook the old land's dust from his feet, and he 
 
 gave her a piece of his mind, 
 But he never knew that he'd somehow left a bit of his 
 
 heart behind. 
 
 Cap'n Paul Jones was a skipper of fame, and a 
 
 darned good sailorman too. 
 And a bit of a bucko, as I've heard tell, in the way 
 
 he handled his crew: 
 He learned 'em to drill and he learned 'em to shoot 
 
 and to jump at the word o' command, 
 The same as he knew how they learned 'em to do in 
 
 the ships of his native land. 
 
 Cap'n Paul Jones was a Britisher born, though he 
 
 changed his flag and his name. 
 In his "Ranger" frigate he led us a dance, but we 
 
 honour him all the same; 
 
 —103— 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 We used to call him a pirate then, and he certainly 
 
 wasn't our friend, 
 But he sailed and he fought as a Britisher ought, 
 
 which is what matters most in the end. 
 
 Cap'n Paul Jones was a Britisher bom, which is 
 why, now the time has come. 
 
 He knows the tug of the Solway tide, and the rattle 
 of Drake's old drum; 
 
 He is back to the sea in the old, old way, a sailor- 
 man smart and bold. 
 
 And the flag o' the "Ranger" is flying to-day by the 
 flag that she fought of old. 
 
 ^104— 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE HUN KING'S DREAM 
 
 About the dead dark o' the night, 
 Ere the first cock clapped his wing, 
 
 The Hun Lord's soul had wandered far — 
 A shrunk and wizened thing — 
 
 Beyond Polaris and the Plough, 
 And the cold Northern Crown, 
 
 Where white in space the Milky Way 
 O'er the lip of space pours down. 
 
 East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon, 
 
 In a twilit land walked he. 
 The same where vagrant souls do range 
 
 When sleep has set them free — 
 And a shadowy guide went at his side 
 
 Whose face he might not see. 
 
 And first there was a place of thorns, 
 And then a salt sea-shore, 
 
 —105- 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And then a river dark and wide 
 That no man might cross o'er; 
 
 And the wind blew, the wind blew 
 As it could blow no more. 
 
 "What thorns be these, so long and keeij, 
 That bite me to the bone?" . . . 
 
 Oh, these be thorns of hate and lies 
 Which you on earth have sown. 
 
 **What sea is this before my feet 
 
 That has so salt a tide?" 
 Oh, that is the flood of women's tears 
 
 That fall and are not dried; 
 They weep, and, weeping, name his name 
 
 Through whom their dear ones died. 
 
 ''What stream is this so dark and deep 
 That laps me to the chin?" . . ., 
 
 Oh, that is the river of men's blood 
 Who perished by your sin. 
 
 There is no boat shall ferry you, 
 No ford shall bring you through 
 
 The red river that runs always 
 Between your God and you. 
 
 -106— 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE HUN KING'S DREAM 
 
 There was no light in all that land 
 
 But the far glare of Mars; 
 And the wind blew, the wind blewj 
 
 It shook the fixed stars. 
 
 And in that wind the shivering soul 
 Like a dry leaf was driven . . . 
 
 "What wind is this, what fearful wind, 
 That rocks the stars in Heaven?" 
 
 Oh, that is the breath of a dead mother 
 
 With a dead babe at her side, 
 Beneath your iron heel who lay, 
 
 And cursed you as she died! 
 
 -lOT- 
 
NEWFOUNDLAND'S GIFT 
 
 Gifts from a full garner — wealth from a brimming 
 
 store — 
 How shall these things be offered from a seagirt land 
 
 and poor? 
 I — who have neither gold nor jewels, cattle nor 
 
 com — 
 I (says Newfoundland) give the lads I have borne! 
 
 Toll o' the Banks when the white fog spins a shroud 
 
 there, 
 Toll o' the Gulf when the Fundy gales are loud 
 
 there. 
 Toll o' the ice-pack grinding south by Labrador — 
 These things have I paid . . . yet will not grudge 
 
 my part in war. 
 
 Bone o' my bone — and in bitter pain I bare them! 
 Blood o' my blood — oh, it's cruel hard to spare 
 
 them! 
 Splendid sons of seamen — more than life to me — 
 No new thing is sacrifice to them which use the sea! 
 —108— 
 
NEWFOUNDLAND'S GIFT 
 
 Salt is the sea-crust on our land's wave-fretted 
 
 shore ; 
 Salt, salt seas, they bring our seamen home no more. 
 Salt, salt winds, they'll blow them home no more to 
 
 me — 
 Well we know the taste of it whose menfolk use the 
 sea! 
 
 Bone o' m}^ heart — and the salt sad tides roll over 
 
 them; 
 Heart o' my heart — oh, the wide, cold seas '11 cover 
 
 them! 
 Gold and gear I give not . . . life and love and 
 
 all to me, 
 These I give to England . . . to England and the 
 
 sea! 
 
 —109— 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING 
 
 Oh, where is the lad that's far away? . . . 
 And what of the one that sails the sea? . . . 
 Oh, how will they keep Saint Patrick's Day, 
 Saint Patrick's Day in the morning? 
 
 There's some will hear the great guns' din 
 At the break o' day their tune begin, 
 And the snipers welcome the daylight in 
 On Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 And be they far or be they near, 
 Upon that day they'll keep good cheer. 
 And make the foe that meets them fear 
 On Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 There's some will watch the fleet that lurks 
 By harbour, mine and fortress works. 
 And some will hammer the heathen Turks 
 
 On Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 —110— 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING 
 
 Oh, far and near their watch is set. 
 But be they cold, or be they wet, 
 Will there a man of them all forget 
 
 Saint Patrick's Day in the morning? 
 
 Ay, some there'll be so sound who sleep 
 In the fields o' France or the waters deep. 
 They will not know that their kinsmen keep 
 Saint Patrick's Day in the morning. 
 
 Sweet Is the sleep of them, far away ; 
 And how should they heed if a man should say 
 "Oh, don't you remember Saint Patrick's Day, 
 Saint Patrick's Day in the morning?" 
 
 —Ill- 
 
THE HAPPY WARRIOR 
 (Apra 2Srd) 
 
 Heee, a soldier plain, I kneel, 
 Sword on thigh, spur on heel. 
 
 If I fall or if I stand, 
 
 Lord, my times are in Thy hand. 
 
 Three things beneath the sun, 
 These I'll ask, and so have done. 
 
 Clean hand, clean sword. 
 
 And a clean heart to serve Thee, Lord! 
 
 II 
 
 When Spring's turned and Winter's done, 
 Life in every bough does run. 
 
 Very sweet the Spring sky . . . 
 Shall a man desire to die, 
 ■112— 
 
THE HAPPY WARRIOR 
 
 Die, and be no more seen 
 
 Where streams run and fields are green, 
 
 And the birds do sing shrill 
 Mating songs in April? 
 
 Should a man not fear to fall, 
 Lord, Lord ... if life were all? 
 
 -113— 
 
ARMED MERCHANTMEN: AN OLD SONG 
 RE-SUNG 
 
 By the Liverpool Docks at the break of the day, 
 I saw a flash packet, bound westward away; 
 And well did I mark how each new-mounted gun 
 Like silver did gleam in the first morning sun. 
 
 Bound away, bound away, where the wide waters 
 
 flow, 
 She's a Liverpool packet — oh. Lord, let her go! 
 
 For thieves be abroad on the ocean highway 
 To harass our traders by night and by day ; 
 But let such attempt her, to take or assail. 
 They may find to their cost she's a sting in her 
 tail. 
 
 She's a crack ocean liner — now catch her who 
 
 can! — 
 Her crew are true British and game to a man; 
 The pirates of Potsdam had best have a care — 
 She's the Navy's stepdaughter, and touch her 
 
 who dare! 
 —114— 
 
ARMED MERCHANTMEN: AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG 
 
 Bound away, bound away, with a bone in her mouth, 
 She passes the Bar light, she turns to the south, 
 A Liverpool packet that stays for no foe — 
 Safe, safe on her journey, oh. Lord, let her go! 
 
 Bound away, bound away, where the wide waters 
 
 flow, 
 She's a Liverpool packet — oh, Lord, let her go! 
 
 —115— 
 
STORMY DUSK 
 
 To-night the dark came stormy down. 
 
 The sun went red to rest ; 
 And fleets of clouds like battleships 
 
 Filled all the burning West. 
 The wind was rising to a gale, 
 
 It howled in hedge and tree . . . 
 And it's cold, bitter cold, 
 
 Where our sailormen must be. 
 Oh, it's bitter cold this night 
 
 In the wild North Sea! 
 
 To-night I heard the church clock strike 
 
 Across the gusts of storm . . . 
 And I thought how go the hours at sea 
 
 While we are sheltered warm . . . 
 I prayed God guard our ships at sea 
 
 And keep them from all harm. . . . 
 And guide them through the pitch-black tides 
 
 Where the drifting death may be, 
 And give them soon a safe return 
 
 And a fruitful victory. . . . 
 116— 
 
STORMY DUSK 
 
 And Christ our Lord who walked of old 
 
 On waves of Galilee, 
 Be near our men this night 
 
 In the wild North Sea! 
 
 I— in- 
 
THE LOWLAND SEA 
 
 Oh, sailed you by the Goodwins, 
 Oh, came you by the Sound? 
 
 And saw you there my true love, 
 That was homeward bound? 
 
 **0h, never will he anchor 
 Again in English ground; 
 
 A-sailing by the Lowlands 
 Your sailorman is drowned. 
 
 **They gave his ship her death-blow 
 
 As she was sailing by, 
 And every soul aboard her, 
 
 Oh, they left them all to die. 
 
 **They were not common pirates 
 Nor rovers of Sallee . . . 
 
 But gentlemen of high estate 
 Come out of Germanic!" 
 -118— 
 
THE LOWLAND SEA 
 
 It was no worthy gentleman, 
 Though he were crowned King; 
 
 It was no honest seaman 
 
 That wrought so vile a thing. 
 
 But the foulest of all pirates 
 That ever sailed the sea . . . 
 
 And they should swing as pirates swing 
 Upon the gallows, tree, 
 
 A-s ailing by the Lowlands 
 That took my lad from me I 
 
 —119- 
 
THE TRAVELLER 
 
 I've loops o' string in the place o' buttons, I've 
 
 mostly holes for a shirt ; 
 My boots are bust and my hat's a goner, I'm gritty 
 
 with dust an' dirt: 
 An' I'm sittin' here on a bgilard watchin' the China 
 
 ships go forth, 
 Seein' the black little tugs come slidin' with timber 
 
 booms from the North, 
 Sittin' an' seein' the broad Pacific break at my feet 
 
 in foam . . , 
 Me that was born with a taste for travel in a back 
 
 alley at home. 
 
 They put me to school when I was a nipper at the 
 
 Board School down in the slums, 
 And some of the kids was good at spellin' and some 
 
 at figures and sums ; 
 And whether I went or whether I didn't they learned 
 
 me nothin' at all, 
 Only I'd watch the flies go walkin' over the maps on 
 
 the wall, 
 —120— 
 
THE TRAVELLER 
 
 Strollin' over the lakes an' mountains, over the plains 
 
 an' sea, — 
 As if they was born with a taste for travel . . . 
 
 somethin' the same as me! 
 
 If I'd been bom a rich man's youngster with lots o' 
 
 money to burn, 
 It wouldn't ha' gone in marble mansions and statues 
 
 at every turn, 
 It wouldn't ha' gone in wine and women, or dogs an' 
 
 horses an' play. 
 Nor yet in collectin' bricks an' bracks in a harmless 
 
 kind of a way - 
 I'd ha' paid my fare where I've beat my way (but I 
 
 couldn't ha' liked it more!), 
 Me that was born with a taste for travel — the same if 
 
 you're rich or poor. 
 
 I'd ha' gone bowlin' in yachts and rollin' in plush- 
 padded Pullman cars, — 
 
 The same as I've seen 'em when I lay restin' at night- 
 time under the stars, 
 
 Me that have beat the ties and rode the bumpers 
 from sea to sea. 
 
 Me that have sweated in stokeholds and dined off 
 mouldy salt-horse and tea; 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Me that have melted like grease at Perim and froze 
 
 like boards off the Horn, 
 All along of a taste for travel that was in me when I 
 
 was bom. 
 
 I ain't got folks an* I ain't got money, I ain't got 
 
 nothing at all, 
 But a sort of a queer old thirst that keeps me movin* 
 
 on till I faU, 
 And many a time I've b^en short o' shelter and many 
 
 a time o' grub, 
 But I've got away from the rows o' houses, the 
 
 streets, an' the corner pub — 
 And here by the side of a sea that's shinin' under 
 
 a sky like flame, 
 Me that was born with a taste for travel, give thank's 
 
 because o' the same. 
 
 -122—- 
 
SALVAGE 
 
 Not the encounter of navies in battle array — 
 The roar of the salvoes — the smoke-wrack that 
 darkens the day — 
 But a mined ship with her forepeak full 
 
 Off the Foreland, wanting towing , . . 
 
 Not the white flame of the searchlights, the red glare 
 
 between, 
 The heaven-splitting thunder and roar of the struck 
 magazine — 
 But a -fog rolling up Channel as white as wool. 
 And never a light showing . . . 
 
 Not the fierce dash of destroyers — the bow-wave 
 
 like snow — 
 The track of the headlong torpedo launched swift 
 on the foe — 
 But a ship aground off the Long Sand light. 
 And a hell of a gale blowing . . . 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 Not the stern splendour of battle, the glory, the 
 
 fame, 
 Not the awarding of honours, the nation's acclaim, 
 But a crew and a cargo to take off hy nighty 
 And the light fast going . . . 
 (But ordy the duty and deed — whose reward is m 
 no marCs bestowing!) 
 
 —124- 
 
WAR RISKS 
 
 **Let go aft!" . . . and out she slides, 
 Pitching when she meets the tides . . . 
 She for whom our cruisers keep 
 Stately vigil in the deep . . . 
 Sink or swim, lads, war or no, 
 Let the poor old hooker go! 
 
 Soon, hull down, will England's shore. 
 Smudged and faint, be seen no more; 
 Soon the following gulls return 
 Where the friendly dock-lights bum; 
 Soon the cold stars, climbing high, 
 March across the empty sky . . . 
 Empty seas before her bow 
 (Lord, she's on her lonesome now!). 
 
 When the white fog, stooping low, 
 Folds in darkness friend and foe . . . 
 When the fast great liners creep 
 Veiled and silent through the deep . . . 
 
 —125- 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 When the hostile searchlight's eye 
 Sweeps across the midnight sky , . , 
 Lord of light and darkness, then 
 Stretch Thy wing o'er merchantmen ! 
 
 Wlien the waters known of old 
 Death in dreadful shape may hold . 
 When the mine's black treachery 
 Secret walks the insulted sea . . . 
 (Lest the people wait in vain 
 For their cattle and their grain) 
 Since Thy name is mercy, then, 
 Lord, be kind to merchantmen! 
 
 —12^— 
 
THE PIRATE'S ONLY DELIGHT 
 
 Hey, bullies, ho, bullies, what have ye seen, 
 Flying with the seagulls where the seas are green? 
 
 Oh, I saw a ship a-sinking. 
 
 And the sight it pleased me well 
 
 (Says Teach the pirate, drinking 
 Red wine in Hell). 
 
 Hey, bullies, ho, bullies, what about the crew? 
 There were men that watched 'em drowning as we 
 often used to do. 
 
 A fine sport for sharing, 
 
 A rare tale to tell 
 (Says Teach the pirate, baring 
 
 Yellow fangs in Hell). 
 
 Hey, bullies, ho, bullies, saw you aught beside? 
 Oh, we saw a drowned girl there drifting on the tide ! 
 
 A sight to split you laughing, 
 
 A sweet thing to tell 
 (Says Teach the pirate, quaffing 
 
 Red wine in Hell). 
 
CLARE'S BRIGADE 
 
 Men of the old grievous battles, men of Clare's 
 
 Brigade, 
 Do ye hear the troops marching through the land 
 
 where ye are laid, 
 Far from the clear running brooks, the dappled sun 
 
 and shade 
 
 On the fair green hills of holy Ireland? 
 
 Ah, but not in the old fashion (men of Clare's 
 
 Brigade!), 
 Not in the sorrow of exile your kinsmen draw the 
 
 blade. 
 For the old trouble's ended now, its grey ghost is 
 
 laid 
 
 On the fair green hills of holy Ireland. 
 
 There shall be pride and love there where sorrow 
 
 dwelt before ; 
 Kind peace shall be her portion, ay, peace from 
 
 shore to shore, 
 And Patrick's plant springing there, springing ever 
 more 
 
 On the fair green hills of holy Ireland I 
 —128— 
 
THE RECRUIT 
 
 Bat and ball are there, lad, 
 And 3'Ou not there to play . . 
 
 "There's a nobler game playing 
 For Enghsh lads to-day." 
 
 And if your mates miss you 
 As they are like to do? . . 
 
 "If my mates were men, lad. 
 They'd ha' 'hsted too." 
 
 What will your dad say 
 
 That is old and grey? . . .j 
 "Oh, he'd give life and all, lad, 
 
 To be young this day." 
 
 Was your mother not weeping 
 As you marched away? . . 
 
 *'Ay, weeping she kissed me 
 As a lad's mother may." 
 
SAILOR TOWN 
 
 And what'U your girl say then 
 That used to walk with you? . . 
 
 "Perhaps she'U walk lonely 
 Fbr she loves me true. 
 
 "But parents both and sweetheart, 
 AU have said the same — 
 
 *If you hadn't gone, lad, 
 I'd ha' died for shame !' '^ 
 
 —ISO— 
 
THE KNITTERS 
 
 In streets that are humming 
 With the city's stair . . ,... 
 
 Or where leaves fall rustling 
 Tlirough the quiet air . . . 
 
 There are women knitting 
 Everywhere . . . 
 
 Knitting and waiting 
 
 Through hours like years — 
 Not with loud grieving 
 
 Nor sighing nor tears — 
 In their hands the needles 
 
 Flash like spears. 
 
 Every thread a sorrow, 
 Every strand a prayer — 
 
 ("Oh, where sleeps my dear one? 
 Or how does he fare?") 
 
 There are women knitting 
 Everywhere . , • 
 
 —131— 
 
THE MOUTH-ORGAN 
 
 Oh, there ain't no band to cheer us up, there ain't 
 
 no 'Ighland pipers 
 To keep our warlike ardure warm round New Cha- 
 
 pelle an' Wipers ; 
 So — since there's nothin' like a tune to glad the 
 
 'eart o' man — 
 Why, Billy with 'is mouth-organ 'e does the best 'e 
 
 can. 
 
 There ain't no birds in Plug Street Wood, the guns 
 
 'ave sent 'em flyin', 
 An' there ain't no song to ^ear except the squealin* 
 
 shells a-cryin'; 
 The thrushes all 'ave *ooked it, an' the blackbirds 
 
 'ad to flit . . . 
 So Billy with 'is mouth-organ 'e ups an' does 'is bit. 
 
 'Is notes is somewhat limited, they are not 'igh an' 
 soary ; 
 
 'E 'asn't got that many things in 'is bloomin' re- 
 pertory ; 
 
THE MOUTH-ORGAN 
 
 But when 'e's played the lot, why, then 'is course is 
 
 straight an' plain, 
 'E starts at the beginnin' an' 'e plays 'em all again ! 
 
 'E's played 'em oft upon the march, an' likewise in 
 
 the trenches; 
 'E's played 'em to the Gurkhas, an' Vs played 'em 
 
 to the Frenchies; 
 'E may be ankle-deep in dust or middle-deep in 
 
 slime. 
 But Billy with 'is mouth-organ 'e's at it all the time. 
 
 Wet, 'ungry, thirsty, 'ot or cold, whatever may be- 
 tide 'im, 
 
 'E'U play upon the 'ob of 'ell while the breath is 
 left inside 'im; 
 
 And when we march up Potsdam Street an' goose- 
 step through Berlin, 
 
 Why, Billy with 'is mouth-organ 'e'll play the Army 
 in! 
 
 ^133- 
 
THE FURROW 
 
 An old horse to the furrow — an old man to the 
 
 plough — 
 For the young horse and the young lad, they're 
 
 needed yonder now — 
 
 The horse, so young and mettled he scarce had 
 
 known the rein, 
 That shook his feathered fetlocks and tossed his 
 
 streaming mane — 
 
 The lad that used to drive him, so strong and 
 
 straight and tall, 
 That dressed him fine with ribbons and groomed 
 
 him in the stall. 
 
 Ah, there as here, old Captain, we know, both I and 
 
 He'll drive a straight furrow as he always used to 
 do! 
 
 The clods before the ploughshare fall heavily apart, 
 But never a clod among them so heavy as my heart, 
 —134— 
 
THE FURROW 
 
 To smell the clean earth breaking and the kind 
 
 country smells, 
 And think o' the stink and reek there, and the 
 
 bursting o' the shells. 
 
 An old horse to the furrow — an old man to the 
 
 plough — 
 And the young horse and the young lad . . . how 
 
 fare they yonder now? 
 
 —135- 
 
AFTER DARK 
 
 Under the blue sky, 
 
 And the white clouds sailing high, 
 
 Where the gallant wind went by, 
 
 A bird sang on — sang on 
 
 Till the day (too soon) was dane. 
 
 And the daylight died 
 Ftrom the fields and the hillside, 
 And the moorland bare and wide . , 
 But the bird sang on — sang on 
 Long after the light was gone — 
 
 Like a voice that said: 
 "Oh, you who weep your dead. 
 Be comforted — be comforted! 
 For the deed lives on — lives on 
 Long after the life is gone !" . • « 
 
 ■136— 
 
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 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
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 M/VY 31 1935 
 
 
 5^;f., --V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 LD 21-100m-8,'34 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY