PR 6003 B7242H 2 2J> TtJT inl T THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES The House of the Winds " Their House is arched with azure and carpeted by green " The House of the Winds By E. J. Brady Author of * The Ways of Many Waters ' etc. George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd. 2 & 3 Portsmouth Street Kingsway W.C. London MCMXIX Printed in Great Britain ears, Edinburgh Acknowledgment The Author is indebted for first publica- tion of some of the verses included herein to The Bulletin and the Sydney Mail. Contents THE WINDS 9 SALLY BROWN 13 TRADE 18 OTAHAI 23 SOMETHING AT THE YARD-ARM 26 ICE VIRGINS 29 THE DEAD SHIPS 34 JACK MARLIN 38 THE PILOT 41 HOMING CHANTEY 48 RETIRED 50 BREAD AND BUNK AND BEER 55 THE SHIP ROMANCE 59 SOUTHERLY 62 A SEA PHANTASY 66 THE PIONEER 69 'LET GO FOR'ARD' 74 BONEY 78 THE PARTING 82 7 The House of the Winds PAGE THE STOKEHOLE 84 A TALE OF TWENTY MEN 88 MEG o' MELBOURNE 95 THE CUTTER WONGRABELLE 103 A CAPSTAN CHANTEY 113 THE FLEETS 115 JOHNNY'S CHURCH 125 A BALLAD OF THE CAPTAINS 128 THINE AIN COUNTREE 132 THE NOR'-EASTER 136 A THOUSAND YEARS BETWEEN 143 HULKS 150 The Winds SO old they are, so young they are, whose tuneful voices stirred The tree-tops of Atlantis : whom skin- clad hunters heard, And dark Accadian lovers and 'plaining poets too, When Thought was in her cradle and human speech was new. They saw lolcos shining, the Argo by its shore ; They heard the Sirens calling in mythic days of yore ; They gave Columbus courage ; they sped Pizarro's keel, Before the leagues were lessened by cleaving bows of steel. Their House is arched with azure and carpeted by green, And curtained are its casements by sunlit damascene ; 9 The House of the Winds "Tis floored by Seven Oceans, whose level sur- face rolls From wainscot of wide places through door- ways of the Poles. Their never-silent Voices shall e'er authentic be ; The songs they sang to Homer they sing to you and me ; Across the red Sahara or through the waving corn ; At Sydney in the sunset, by Samos in the morn. They wailed o'er Alexander, and lone and tragic cried On stormy St Helena, the night Napoleon died ; So fey they are, so gay they are, whose constant songs are sung In tunes of ev'ry Music, in words of ev'ry tongue. We hear them in our cradles, and when the Shadows fall, Their Message of Departure these fateful Harpers call : 10 The Winds A rose song in the morning, at noon a wild delight, But low among the cypress the Four Winds toll at Night. They played in purple Baalbec among the brown slave's curls, They whispered lovers' greetings to swart Assyrian girls; They walked before the Pharaohs ; they rode with Sheba's pride, And by the car of Caesar, and Tamerlane beside. They dwelled amid the splendour and panoply of Rome ; They bore the Normans over and led the Vikings home ; They lured the Norse to Greenland, they led the Moors to Spain ; They sped the Knights of Cortez a-down the Western Main. And don and devil dared them, and greasy traders prayed ; And priests and pirates clamoured their mercies or their aid. ii The House of the Winds They slew the strong Armada, and answered to the quest Of martyrs, rogues and rovers who journeyed South and West. Though now a Fleet of Iron their olden func- tion fills, No field shall fruit without them, without them no man tills ; With rain they gladden gardens, in sweetness keep the sea, Till Time's Long Epic endeth, and Men no more may be. So olden be, yet golden be, these Singers aye unseen, Who shout above the thunder, who whisper songs serene ; Who walk this planet's pathways, with fruitful- ness behind, Who sweep the House Terrestrial with besoms of the Wind. 12 Sally Brown HER sails are furled and her anchor s down. The lamps are lighted in Melbourne town ; ril spend my money on Sally Brown, Wey, hey ! With a shipmate true and a pound or two, Fit spend my money on Sally Brown, Wey, hey, ho! We've brought her over from Puget Sound With her load o' Canadian pine ; And her blue-nose mate, that's dead and drowned, He was never a friend of mine. Been crimped in 'Frisco and jugged at Tool ; I been stoushed in a Plymouth slum ; I've ' blued ' my money and played the fool With the Women, and Dice, and Rum. The House of the Winds I've smelt the bilge of a Swedish brig Where the right whale breaches and blows ; I've sailed in a bark of Yankee rig To the land where the cotton grows. I've lived in the Land o' the God-Forbid Where hell is your daily lot ; I sarved my time as a fo'castle kid In the House of the God- forgot. I've shipped with tigers and human swine ; I've shipped with a yaller crew ; An' Satan himself was mild and fine To some of the mates I knew. He led 'em all by a level mile ; He could make it an easy win On any track of the Ail-That 's-Vile On the sawdust courses o' sin. " The seas are mine," said the Lord above When the work o' the world began ; He gave them Hate and He gave them Love, Hard graft, and the Sailorman. Sally Brown He made them wide, and He made them deep, With a seaport here and there, And plenty o' rain and salt to keep The depths and the shallows clear. And North and South they are green and grey, But the Middle Seas they are blue, We slid him out at the fall of day When the skipper had read it through. A blue- nosed mate with a ginger 'ead And a squint in his ugly eye, The Bluebeards crew, to a man, they said It was good that the mate should die. Aye ! Dago Pete with his broken face ; And ' Sails,' what he kicked and cowed I guess old ' Sails ' took heart o' grace When he stitched him into his shroud And Boozer Bill, from the State o' Maine ; Old Pat and Antonio ; That partin' brought 'em no grief or pain ; They all had their marks to show. The House of the Winds He hazed us out o' the bloomin' Bay Till we lifted the Southern light : He hazed the watch through the livelong day And he made a hell of the Night. It was 'dargs' and 'skulkers' and 'hogs' and ' skunks ' ; And sorrow and sweating and curse ; Till we dreamt at night in our crowded bunks Of his sudden death and worse. His soul was posted as overdue At the homing Port o' Hell. A block in a way that blocks will do From 'er crosstrees somehow . . . fell ! He sprawled the deck like a stricken bull To the lilt of a ten-knot breeze ; With the canvas drawing free and full As she parted the combing seas. Her planks were splashed and spattered and red, Till we scraped 'em with holystone. It ketched him fair on his ginger 'ead And he went with 'ardly a moan ! 16 Sally Brown He lived a dog, an' a dog he died ; I watched him a-sinking down, As we put him over the Bluebird's side On the road to Melbourne town. Now Dago Pete he will find a girl, Antonio ' blue in ' his gain ; And Pat get drunk as an Irish earl, With Bill from the State o' Maine. We've brought her over from Puget Sound With her load o' Canadian pine ; That blue-nose mate that is dead an' drowned He was never a friend o' mine. The Bluebirds anchor is out and down ; The girls are waiting in Melbourne town ; ril spend my money on Sally Brown, Wey, hey ! With a messmate true and a pound to 'blue,' fit spend my money on Sallee Brown, Wey, hey, ho ! Trade TWO thousand years of the Christian creed, and a thousand years before, Spewing their cargoes out on the quays, re-gorging their holds once more, Over the rolling Seas of the World, wherever its ports are laid, They come and go with a royal show, the Ships of the Merchant Trade. The timid tubs of an early day, they hurriedly plied their oars ; For dragons dwelled in the waters then, and demons by the shores ; And Circe lilting a magic strain in her isle enchanted knew How a little soft song will ne'er go wrong with a sour, sea-wearied crew. The Cyclops haunted their working hours, with the Gorgons grim and dread ; And every ninth wave threatened death ; and the storm fiends overhead Trade Their dreams beset with sea-born beasts ; nor ever a man might know If a wanton sprite some evil spite was devilling down below. But daring the chance of dangers dire, in the years beyond the years, The Giants who dwelled in the Dark of Things, the myths and the olden fears ; They laboured their ladings out and home that the profits might be made For, old or new, this story is true, that trade for ever is trade. Ay, the bills of lading, notched on staves by the skin-clad hirelings, told The consignees how their cargoes lay in the skin kayaks of old ; As the bricks they baked in Babylon, or scribed on papyrus, Or the printed bills the type girl fills, are telling to-day to us. The portly merchant of Sidon town most certainly had no thought That a future day would classic deem the goods that he sold and bought. 19 The House of the Winds He invoiced Carthage, at market rates, collected his cash when due, Complained of the shameful waste of stores, and probably starved the crew. And if it chanced that a Tuscan thief, in his prowling galley free, Consigned the goods to his private horde, the company to the sea, That portly owner of Sidon town anathematized the Fates, And sent a load by another road, and charged 'em at double rates. While Plato dreamed of his perfect State, and Caesar of his Crown, The trading ships of the ancient time were travelling up and down With the corn and oil and clothes and drink, and the simple mundane things Of work and play in the every-day which rarely a poet sings. The high-decked hulls of the Kentish ports in a later fashion went With their English wool to feed, in course, the looms of the Continent ; 20 Trade Then haled them home with the Flemish cloth and the wines of Gascony, That the Saxon maids and their Norman blades might clothed and couraged be. But wider the world began to grow, and always the distance less Though the world to-day is a narrow place to the world of good Queen Bess. For all its rovers are sleeping sound, nor over the Spanish Main Shall the Golden Hind set sail to find adventure and spoil again. For the English King wears an Alpine hat they haven't a king in France And the shipping rings have sounded far the death of the old Romance ; Now the Kentish ships are manned by Hans and Pedro and Yonson blonde ; And the wond'rous sea Columbus dared is only ' The Herring Pond.' And over the Transatlantic wire (soon to be ' out of use ' ) The wireless flashes the liner swift her budget of daily news. 21 The House of the Winds Anon, 'twill patter the price of stocks to the flying Ships of Air To keep in touch with the Wall-street bears, the travelling millionaire. So over the years and down the years, till the suns and stars grow cold, Till all the waters of all the world are backward in chaos rolled, Till Gabriel's trump shall call them up who under the seas are laid, To the east and west the worst and best shall follow the tracks of trade. A hundred Caesars may come and go, or a thousand Shakespeares shine ; A hundred Brownings singing of Art, a hundred Omars of Wine ; The Ledger stands where the Ledger stood, nor ever its voice gainsaid On earth shall be by the land or sea, while trade for ever is trade. 22 Otahai ; ; ON the beach at Otahai You remember, you and I, And the rollers on the bars, And the moonlight and the stars On that beach at Otahai You'll remember you and I. What's the use a sailor loving, Round the world for ever roving ? What's the use to think or care, Keep or lose or hold or share ? What's the use to laugh or sing, What's the good of anything ? But the wind was in your hair, And your face was sunset fair, And I saw the starlit skies Mirrored in your dreaming eyes, As the night went laughing by On that beach at Otahai. Then the leaves like lace hung down From the sleeping palm tree's crown ; 23 The House of the Winds Then we heard the sea birds call, Heard the night tide rise and fall Loving, dreaming, you and I, On the beach at Otahai. Ah ! that warm, white night perfumed When the rollers broke and boomed, When our hearts were beating so, Ah ! that night of long ago ! Ah ! that night and you and I On the beach at Otahai ! Still the palm trees dance and sway In the moonlight far away ; Still the sea birds dip and call, Still the long tides rise and fall, Still the laughing night goes by On the beach at Otahai. Life is ashes ! Even so, For that night of long ago All the days I have to live, Ah, so freely would I give For that night and you and I On the beach at Otahai. 24 Otahai What's the use a sailor loving, Round the world for ever roving-? o What's the good to laugh or sing ? What's the good to-day, to-morrow, Life or Death, or Joy or Sorrow What's the good of anything ? 2 5 Something at the Yard-arm THERE'S something at the yard- arm That's swinging to and fro ; There's something at the yard-arm The drums are beating slow. They swung it to the yard-arm Alive a while ago ; They hung it to the yard-arm For all the fleet to know. What is it rocks so gently, Tarpaulin, can you see ? What is it swings so slowly Above the sunlit sea ? A messmate's hanging yonder Upon the gallows-tree, Oh, high it's hanging yonder The corpse of Mutiny. There's something at the yard-arm That dips to every roll, With muffled drums a-beating Instead of bells to toll. 26 Something at the Yard-arm There's something at the yard-arm That answers every roll ; The Admiral is watching, Black anger in his soul. The Provost Marshal's wiping The sweat from off his face ; The man beside the yard-rope He staggers in his place ; The Captain's walking hurried And stepping out of pace ; The Chaplain by the cat-head Is moving God for grace. What is it in the hammock, Tarpaulin, can you see ? What is it in the hammock That lifts so heavily ? A dead man's in his hammock, And evermore to be Between the round shot lying Asleep beneath the sea. There's something at the yard-arm That's hanging high and white ; The middle watch that saw it Is cursing in affright! 27 The House of the Winds There's something at the yard-arm A-swinging all the night ; There's something at the yard-arm God send the morning light ! 28 Ice Virgins PALE virgins of the Arctic, They pulse across the tides To meet the lords Antarctic Who fain would make them brides. The wicked White Fox spied them Beyond the Frozen Sea, With but dim Night to hide them, Still sleeping nakedly. A woman-seal, bewailing Her dead cub in the floe, Saw one tall wanton sailing Out South'ard through the snow. Down by the Crozets lying Storm-stricken on the waste In weedy seas slow dying Her twin berg bids her haste. A man-seal strangely bleeding Beneath the midnight sun Beheld him proudly speeding Toward far Septentrion. 29 The House of the Winds Long, long he fared and sought her From realms of Night and Fire, The grey North's gracious daughter- His lily of desire. The clumsy cow-whale, giving A great dug to her calf, Breaks surges unforgiving That built his cenotaph. The petrel heard him groaning, The penguin saw him die, The dovekies mock her moaning, The daft auks watch her by. Now, in their bride-robes biding Throng down her sisters tall, Whose lords-elect are chiding, Whose waiting bridegrooms call. In vain their mad dams stayed them- The painted glaciers these, Who on their cold breasts laid them Through aching centuries. 30 Ice Virgins Once came the Vikings sweeping- Red fell the clean snows then Once came the long ships leaping Of swart Basque sailor-men ; Once came John Cabot, sailing Nor'- West for rich Cathay ; Once Baffin's tub turned trailing A-leak to Melville Bay. Came Ghosts of Hudson steering To skirt the Middle Ice ; Came Shades of Franklin, Behring, First Sons of Sacrifice. What heed these white maids, burning, Who sweep by Cape Farewell ? What heeds the Earth-maid, yearning, Doomstruck ? Love legends tell. The ice-blink fadeth faster From strange green water-skies ; Each berg her lot has cast her Where now her love-lot lies. The House of the Winds Fierce Southern Seas enfold them, Torn from their glacial shore, And strong-armed breakers hold them A-dreaming evermore. Yon' wings the fond she-eider, Yon' creeps the lone white hare, And with her cubs beside her Slow hunts the Polar bear. Bejewelled charms revealing, Pink harlots they at noon, But sinless ladies stealing Soft homeward in the moon. So comes the King-berg Nor' ward To seek his love again ; So goes the Queen-berg forward, Amort and all in vain. She at the Grand Bank dieth, Who thus the Sun-god dares ; He, worn and wasted, lieth A-dying at the Snares. 32 Ice Virgins He may not kiss his rover, The warm blue seas between ; She may not clasp her lover, Nor be his Boreal Queen. They greet not, meet not ever ; They touch not mouth to mouth, Who still go North for ever, For ever who go South. 33 The Dead Ships SOUND, sleeping sound, with their sere sails rotting round, On their bleached beds down below, By a viscid seaweed slimed, by a hoar ooze whitely rimed, Lie low, the drown'd dead ships lie low. All dreaming of the dockyards, All longing for the quays ; Where the living ships yet come and Still waiting for the south wind, Still watching for the tides, And the cheery sailor lad's ye-ho. Deep, crowded deep, where the clammy sea- slugs creep, And the polyp builds and bores, Turn the traders in their grief, groan the gun- ships on the reef, Roll the frigates on the floors. Oh, the gunship hears the stroke Of the round-shot through the oak, 34 The Dead Ships And the shouting and the cheering of the boarders dashing down. But the tradeship's gentle soul Loves the tender lap and roll Of the white-caps making music on the road to London town. Low, sleeping low, as the live ships come and go, in their tarnished, torn attire, They who swung from London town, they who took the purple down Into Carthage out of Tyre. Oh, the gilded barge of Csesar! Oh, the cohorts golden-mailed ! But, oh, the green lolcos on the morn that Jason sailed ! Dreams, dreaming dreams, lie the Suffete's proud triremes In their silted Punic bays, And a tramp hulk rests beside with the glory and the pride Of the Doges and the Deys. How fares it with the Builders who wrought so lovingly ? 35 The House of the Winds What aileth, then, the Builders, that they thus quiet be ? Nay, ask the brown mounds yonder, I pray ye ask not me. Far, rocking far, grinds the galleon on the bar When the night winds moan and cry ; 'Tween her curved ribs shotted yet Culverin and falconet, With the linstocks rusting by. Ho, Master Thomas Fleming, Why swings your mains'l round ? The great Armada's coming Up Channel, inward bound, And I've brave news to carry This morn to Plymouth Sound. Sore, smitten sore, by a jagged saw-toothed shore, By the broadswords of the waves, With their spewed freights rotting slow While the live ships come and go, Dream the dead ships in their graves. 36 The Dead Ships Out of darkness, out of light, slain at noon- time, killed at night, By wrack, by fire, by wound untold In his eyes her blind eyes stare, On her fleshless fingers there- See ! love-locked yet the hoop of gold ! Grey, waiting grey, for the Trump of Judg- ment Day, Where the gorged seas groaning spread, Lie the Lost Fleets biding deep, Lie the Squadrons all asleep, Lie the Squadrons of the Dead ! 37 Jack Marlin NOW at the window, side by side, We sit and take our ease, And watch the ebb and flow of tide That sweetens all the seas. His face is in the twilight glow, His teeth a pipe between A sailor of the years ago, An old man grey and lean. He knew the Western waterways Before the whirling screw ; The clippers of the sailing days, In all their pride, he knew. Jack Marlin's voice is harsh and shrill, But as he hoarsely sings, I see the grand old vessels fill Their white, outspreading wings. I hear his long-dead messmates round A rusty capstan go ; I hear the songs of ' Homeward Bound,' The song of ' Lowland's Low.' 38 Jack Marlin I hear the cotton chanteys ring, And, out across the bars, I see the Black-ball flyers fling Their topmasts to the stars. The Indi'man she tacks and wears O'er heaving miles of foam ; The Bristol trader humbly bears Her owner's cargoes home. The riding lamps glint through the rain Where in their roadsteads lie The timid hulls of Trade again As in the nights gone by. Aye, in the nights their rain-wet spars Loom high and strange, I ween, When out beyond the crooning bars, The seabirds call unseen. The light has faded from the west And o'er a shadowed sea, With black wings folded on her breast, Night broods and mystery. 39 The House of the Winds Jack Marlin, with the rising moon Is singing, hoarse and low, Strange words to some forgotten tune Of fifty years ago ! 40 The Pilot ALERT and ever ready all ship-shape, trim and bright, A stout boat on the davits hung well out by day and night The Pilot, at her moorings, swings restless with the tide, As if she knew and envied the company out- side. All times the look-out hearkens his functions to fulfil- To voice of lamp and bunting high up on Signal Hill, A red light, at her masthead, burns through the night alway, When all good folk are dreaming in all the world away. Oft, drowsily digesting the thoughts of need and deed, When midnight turns toward morning, I hear a shrill, ' Proceed ! ' The House of the Winds In half-awakened fancy while good folk keep their beds I glimpse some inward Argo awaiting off the Heads. Perchance a lumber schooner, from Puget with her load, That aids the builder finish a city man's abode. Across the vast Pacific from ' Bear ' to ' Cross ' she's swung To shout of loud sea orders and rolling chanteys sung. Across the wondrous ocean that proud Pizarro hailed, A hard-faced Yankee skipper successfully hath sailed. His bo'sun from New Bedford ; his mate, who, doubtless, too Could curse in seven lingoes and ' haze ' a sullen crew. To-night they'll hit the city with money in the purse, And seek their recreation for better or for worse ; 42 The Pilot They'll walk with fickle Phryne ; with Bacchus sally forth To booze in classic Pyrmont and brawl in George-street North. We trust this briny ballad, uncultured, will not shock The beaux who air their graces to belles of four o'clock. Our Jacks are not the fashion, no social circles know The slaves of seven oceans who drink a while and go. They get no band to cheer them, no toast artistic brown, No waiting maids in muslin to bring the tea- trays down ; They meet no gay acquaintance with jovial quip and grin Who run the ' rolling forties ' and fetch the cargoes in. Perchance a stately liner the Pilot proudly waits A tall, important stranger, who calls without the Gates. 43 The House of the Winds Ah, here the picture changes ! Now madame need not fear A liner's manner's perfect ; her morals are not queer. A diva and a doctor, a maestro from Milan, A baronet (in knickers), a bishop, saintly man, Whose thirst is quenched with Moet ; how shocked he'd surely be To hear they had no stewards upon Lake Galilee ! Gilt mouldings in the state rooms, in evening dress to dine, A pianola playing, and ladies, love and wine So comes the floating palace, and, if I dream aright, Her steerage and her stokehold are somewhere out of sight. When Gabo in the winter is warding off the blows Of giant winds that, cradled in dark Antarctic snows, 44 The Pilot Come tearing up from Tasman, the Pilot in his place Awaits the call of duty, unruffled, blithe of face. 'Tis choppy down the harbour ; there's surf on Middle Head ; The coasters run for shelter, the sky is roofed with lead ; The rollers break in thunder, and flying spume and spray Go drifting o'er the headlands of wind-swept Watson's Bay. Naught heed these sturdy sea-dogs ex- skippers, bluff and strong, Who make the Pilot Service that helps the world along, The bells below are clanging ; a waiting ship's in need Run up your bit o' bunting ! And let the boat proceed ! She drops her harbour moorings, the smoke pours out a-lee, She dances to the music and dares the combing sea ; 45 The House of the Winds And if her boats won't live it, he'll signal o'er the foam To bid the stranger ' Follow ' and lead him safely home. So dapper and so steady, so neat, alert and gay 'Tis good to see the Pilot on watch by night and day. And glad are they to greet him, the skippers _ and their crews, To help him o'er the taffrail and get his latest news. The first to say ' Good-morrow,' the last to bid ' Good-bye,' Whatever port they hail from, whatever flag they fly ; He sets them on the high road, their homeward coasts to win ; He meets them in the offing and brings them surely in. All pilots go to Heaven, as ev'ry seaman knows ; No matter what his failings, nor yet how bad his clothes. 46 The Pilot No pilot ever reaches the Port of Pitch and Flame, For Charon takes him over ; and Charon knows the game ! 47 Homing Chantey OH, swinging down the Western Main, And roaring round the Horn, We'll bring her to the docks again With California's corn Home in the summer-time, Home in the summer-time, Our good ship has to be ; Old ' Stormy's ' dead and in his bed, And all the winds are free. Her bowsprit, like an albatross, Goes wheeling to the sky : We'll raise the Bear and sink the Cross Before the doldrums die Home in the summer-time, Home in the summer-time, Back from the Golden Gate, With cash to ' blue ' on Sis and Sue, A wedding ring for Kate. You'll get your pay, and I'll get mine The tree must bear its fruits, And four lean months upon the brine, " Pay Paddy Doyle for his boots " 48 Homing Chantey Home in the summer-time, Home in the summer-time, From San Francisco quays ; Fo'castle Jack has laboured back Over the hung'ring seas. Oh, sing my lads ! The tall Azores Sink in the sunset down Oh, sing my lads, the white chalk shores That lead to London town ! Home in the summer-time, Home in the summer-time, Our good ship has to be ; For Sis and Sue they wait for you, And my Kate waits for me ! D Retired HE owns a little villa Beside the Sydney shore, This grizzled, grey old skipper, Retired, and sixty-four. I often see him sitting On his verandah chair, The sea-wind gently blowing About his foam-white hair. Before him spreads the Harbour, And, telescope to eye, He watches, late and early, The ship-procession by. And spar and mast and funnel, And engine, sail and screw, They speak to him the language Of that great world he knew. They tell him of the countries That lie so far away ; The messmates and the cronies Of his departed day. 50 Retired His wife is sleeping yonder, He laid her down at sea ; A long-gone captain's daughter, A captain's darling she. And oft, I know, his glasses Grow filmy with the dim, Sad memories and longings The brave ships bring to him. He knows them all by number, And most he knows by name ; The whither of their going, The whence their cargoes came. And oft I see him passing His hand across his eyes, When hoot the outward sirens And high Blue Peter flies. The ports that they are bound for Ah, these he knows right well, The light and buoy and beacon^ The foghorn and the bell. The House of the Winds He sees, in mind, the coastline, He sees the storm-swept bay, And down the foggy channel He feels a cautious way. He sees the docks of London, Where once his lading he To cheer his merchant owners Delivered faithfully. In dreams he sees the Indies, In dreams he doth behold The coasts of California, The fevered Coasts of Gold. The Cape and Horn, in fancy, He beats around again, In sunshine and in starshine, In clear and calm and rain. The clipper roads, he knew them, The infant days of Steam And ships, long dead, forgotten, Go drifting through his dream. 52 Retired Along that wide verandah He paces to and fro ; And with him walk the shipmates Of years and years ago. He hears the homing chanteys, And on the poop he stands, With ready crew beneath him To follow his commands. He dresses and he strips her, He lays her course once more From Boston to the Foreland, From 'Frisco to the Nore. I doubt not he is ready His final Port to win ; I doubt not that St Peter Will let the old man in. His papers all in order ; His manifest clear writ, With many goodly items Set down, in gold, on it. 53 The House of the Winds One day he'll take his passage To that Uncharted Shore Whence neither crew nor captain Re-voyage evermore. 54 Bread and Bunk and Beer TH E Captains got the credit, The claret and the crowns ; Their ladies laid in laces, And walked in 'broidered gowns. Throughout ' Our Splendid Story ' Their fame is blazoned clear. But barren bays of glory Were theirs whose labours gory Bought Bread and Bunk and Beer. They sickened in foul cockpits, They sweated at the sheets, The gleanings of the village, The harvest of the streets A press-gang's squalid mintage (' Our Splendid Story ' runs), But heroes in the vintage, Who poured, with no mean stintage, Their blood before the guns. Sour gallows-fruit plucked seaward That might have riped anon They laid their hulks like Vikings Beside the galleon ; 55 The House of the Winds With ruffian courage cheering When crashing broadsides woke ; Their ribald jowls appearing At splintered port-holes ; jeering At Death across the smoke. The quarter-deckers, o'er them, Should bloody efforts fruit, Would take the cream of glory, The lion's share of loot And limelight in dispatches But, showing mickle fear Of mortal wounds or scratches, Below they plied the matches For Beef and Bunk and Beer. They manned the merchant service, As yet to-day they do, Crimped, duped or belly-driven To make a deep-sea crew ; With Three-toed Pete, the Dago, Red Hans and Nigger Joe, Black Juan of Santiago And all the scum that may go The roads the deep tanks know. 56 Bread and Bunk and Beer In dripping, damp sou'westers, In greasy dungarees, They fetch a nation's commerce Across the hungry seas ; Yea sinners sair but canty Pig-iron, pork and pearls, They freight with shout and chanty For silver small and scanty To spend among the girls. Their epitaphs are written Among the ooze and slime A nameless, fameless Legion Evanished into Time. Unplaced among the planners Of Empire high and strong, Despite their godless manners They bore her blood-red banners The utmost Seas along. They drudged, they fought, they famished Raw wounds and death for gain That ships might outward journey, And eke come home again ; 57 The House of the Winds A feckless host, hard-faring, God ease their souls of sin, And grant them for their daring, Full meed of rest un-wearing, The hollow seas within ! A requiem yet the surges For these hard lives shall sing, When o'er the Seven Oceans A thousand airships wing ; And down far Time-Tracks hoary The Seas will thunder clear, The worth in human story Of these, whose gain and glory Was Bed and Beef and Beer. The Ship Romance OUTSIDE 'tis gold and azure ; Within 'tis grey and green The brave high headlands rearing Their fortressed bulk between. The gates stand ever opened, And lo ! the ships go down, Like black swans veering seaward To 'scape the crowded town. Like white swans faring homeward The inward ships come o'er, To fold their tired wings softly A season by the shore. Thy blue-eyed baby crooning Its wonder and delight, Shall ask thee whither go they, The black swans and the white. " The white swan-ships, beloved, That through the morn have gone, Sail out " so wilt thou whisper 11 To far-off Avalon. 59 The House of the Winds " Their good knights' shining falchions, With hilts of fairy gold, In yonder sunburst gleaming Thou mayest yet behold. "With red hearts fiercely burning Beneath their breasts of steel, That wicked, wanton merman Who slew the pure white seal, " Those black sea-knights thou sawest Ride nobly down the bay To-night have gone a-seeking In lone seas far away. " Their ways, O heart's delight, are Most wondrous to pursue, And val'rous, brave and splendid With deeds of derring-do. "And they shall see the Rainbow That rings the Midnight Sun, And hear the Phcenix singing Before their task is done." 60 The Ship Romance What though that fabled Island Lies deep beneath the Sea ? What though that wicked Merman A stout Ship-owner be ? In dreams the Fleets of Childhood Sail back a thousand years To coasts of strange old fancies And strangely sweet old fears ; And, bound for fair Atlantis From out the port of Chance For Poet, Child and Woman Still sails the ship Romance. 61 Southerly OH, North and East from Conran, The heel of old Cape Howe Upon his worn foundations Is planted firmly now. For loud Antarctic weather Beats on his seaward gates ; And Wind and Sea together Race home from Bass's Straits. Scared ketches out of Mario, Drenched by a stinging spray, Run hard to make their shelter, Ere night, at Twofold Bay. The freighted coasters stagger Half-buried in the boil ; They slow their groaning engines And lamely south'ard toil. The liner makes her offing, And, proud in strong disdain, Defies the fighting furies That pound her sides in vain. 62 Southerly Close-reefed, a Glasgow clipper, Along a path of foam, With all the gale behind her, Is racing gaily home. ' Stand off! ' the signals order, ' Stand off! ' and beat away ; The bars, with white teeth snarling, Are growling Death to-day ! On high Shoalhaven forelands, And down by Wollongong, The green seas shout and thunder Their wildest Wagner song. From Schank to Port Macquarie The mad white horses speed ; The coasts are wet with spindrift From Wilson's to the Tweed. The seabird, shoreward driven, To all the world protests ; The swans complaining cover Their fledglings in the nests. 63 The House of the Winds Across the Southern Ocean, Along the Tasman Sea, Each lighthouse-keeper holdeth His charges warily. Hard mates their decks are pacing, And anxious skippers dart Quick glances from the shoreline Unto the open chart. One eye upon his compass, Firm poised on inward heel, The steersman's hands of iron Are clamped about the wheel. Gaunt bergs and groaning glaciers, Floe ice and fogs and snows By red volcanoes lighted, This howling South Wind knows From that lone land untrodden That rings the mystic Pole, He comes with strange, wild anger Within his boreal soul. 64 Southerly He leaves, to mark his going, Brown weed and kelp uptorn, And driftwood on the beaches That front a clearer morn. And wreckage, slowly rising And falling in the swell, To-morrow, at the dawning, Its own drear tale will tell. The bruised ships, death-delivered, Replace their riven spars, And clean tides freshly enter Across re-opened bars. Once more a cloudless, splendid Blue arch beams overhead, And all the seas are grateful The wild South Wind is dead. A Sea Phantasy FOUR-FIFTHS of the World are water yet ; four-fifths of a Man the same ; The First Life Cell from the Primal Sea, to mother all kingdoms came. If I but saw with the mollusc's eyes, and thought with a human brain, I'd read, mayhap, the Riddle of Why, and utter its meaning plain. This is the wisdom of all the Books ; the learn- ing of all the Schools ; A fifth of the globe is habitat for millions of, mostly fools : Only a fifth for the foot of Man ; but out where the right whale goes, Four times as wide, lies an under-world that nobody sees or knows ! Under the lighted glass of the Sea, below in the worlds unseen, Lieth an Asia yet unmapped and a Europe submarine. 66 A Sea Phantasy A second's swing of the Planet's pole, the pull of an asteroid, And a new Atlantis might arise an Asia sink in the void. Far is the boundary fence of Time. Shall ever the world be sure The chance and change of a million years will cease for a hundred more? If we had seen as the Dinosaur and spake with a human tongue, What tales of the aeons past and gone would surely be scribed and sung ! The polyps building their continents, in the Scheme and Plan of Things, A greater value in sooth may have than ever a bard who sings ; And who shall say but the alga dark that under the salt wave grows Holds equal gra^e in the Maker's eyes with the fairest garden rose ? Old is the story of Ocean ; old, in the further Eocene, The House of the Winds When fiery mountain and quaking hills bom- barded its margins green ; The waters then are the waters now, with little of loss or gain ; But age by age have the lands been changed and risen and sunk again. Four-fifths of a world for level plain, and a fifth of wrinkled crust, To tell its story in broken lines of effort, failure and dust ; A fifth to carry the Race of Men, but four for the sweep of Tides, And so the Ship of the World through Space, with the Cosmic Squadron rides ! 68 The Pioneer HE stands beside the wind-swept verge, The Flint Age just begun, He sees the grey, incoming surge Grow red beneath the sun ; The primal seas before him hold What danger and what fear, This builder of the aeons old, This Shipwright Pioneer? His knotted hands, with stone and fire In cloud and shine have wrought Through days of failure and desire The rude inventor's thought A tattooed chief, long ages sunk In far, forgotten night, Who chose the bole and felled the trunk And paced its length aright. His auroch's tooth and mammoth tusk, And greenstone axe have done Slow service in the falling dusk And with the lifted sun ; 69 The House of the Winds The sweat of toil, uncouth, sublime, Has drenched his bare limbs o'er This workman in the dawn of Time, This Titan by the shore. A Fulton in a wolf-skin dress, Whose fame no legends tell, Through travail vast and hourly stress He held his purpose well. Bull-chested, savage, heavy-limbed, Barbaric, past, remote, His fame in fitting voice is hymned From ev'ry storm wind's throat. The twin screw sings his work divine Across a peopled sea ; From Greenland to the circling line Who worthier than he ? The turbine's shaft shall call his deed Above the charted floors, And, city-sown, they'll grant him meed Of praise, the thousand shores. Homeric in the Dawn he stands ; Wild triumph lights his face ; The Key of Distance in his hands An Overlord of Space, 70 The Pioneer Eyes shaded by a palm of might, Peering the level plain Out from the World's Primaeval Night He glares, and sinks again ! Builder was he ere Asia knew Aught of Accadian tents : Builder was he ere Egypt grew Skilled in the rudiments. Master of Craft ere Rome and Tyre Sprang from their swamp and fen, Pointing with flint and bone and fire The way for sailor-men. A gaunt Columbus in the weird, Lost infancy of Man, For him no sculptured stone was reared By tutored sept or clan, Painter and sculptor, caid and sage Owe him neglected praise Lord of the Neolithic Age And Captain of the Ways. Burnt is his spark ; gone down, long sped Into unheeded night ; Dust are his hands, but still men tread The vintage of their might. The House of the Winds Haply to-day some shipyard looms, Potent with force accrued, And loud Invention clangs and booms Where lay his dug-out rude. Haply the strong cranes lift and bear Masses of structure shaped Hard by the salted margins, where He hewed, and chipped, and scraped ; Boiler and bulkhead, beam and mast, Crank and propeller blade, Swing to their place appointed fast, All for the good of Trade. Surely his spirit somewhere hears, Out in the vastness wide, Echoes faint of the Newer Years, Borne o'er the roaring tide. Surely the white electric gleam Cleaving the darkness, yet Lights with its slow, revolving beam, This strange sea silhouette : Framed by a night cloud drooping low, Dark and obscurely dim, Paddling his frail boat hard and slow, Out at the dark sea rim 72 The Pioneer Once in a hundred years perchance A watcher by the sea, One fleeting second's space may glance An Ancient Mystery. Bull-chested, bared to combat new, Soaked with the driving spray, Muscle and sinew, bone and thew Fighting their onward way ; Holding the sure coast close inboard, Hugging the solid shore Passeth the great Sea's Primal Lord Into the Nevermore. Father of Builders as he fades Over the tither side, A liner huge with whirling blades Cleaves outward in her pride ! Father of Sailors as his ghost Mists at the rising moon, Comes the sound of ' Washington Post ' Played in her grand saloon ! 73 - Let Go For'ard ! ' I AM 'elpless in me bunk, Oh, I'm dilly an' I'm drunk, An' I'm bruised an' black an' sore ; I've had a rotten time, An' the winch she sez, in rhyme, " I won't get drunk any more." But I listen for the word That before I've often 'eard : It is sweeter in me ear Than the chorus risin' clear Of a skylark on the wing : " Let GO for'ard ! Let go for'ard ! . . . Get a heave upon the spring ! " Now the row is done at last, An' they've got the lashin's fast ; I can feel the joyful thud Of 'er screw above the mud Though me soul an' body's sore, I'm another kind o' man, I'm a real good doer an' I won't get drunk any more. 74 ' Let Go For'ard ! ' I'll be 'eavin' of the log, I'll be scoffin' of me prog, An' the battered thing that's me, Will be Johnny Jones, A.B. In the mornin' I'll be fit, " Let go for'ard ! Let go for'ard ! Take a heave upon the spring, Get the gangway in a sling We 'ave 'ad enough of it \ " When 'er screw begins to kick, Though we're silly an' we're sick, Why, the bangin' and the boom Of the blanky engine-room " Thud-er-ud-er-ud ! Cuss-yer-bones-an'-blood ! " It will make us good an' well, An' we'll give 'er bunkers 'ell In the mornin'. 'Twill be pretty blue an' white, An' I'll get to sleep all right To the music of the shaft An' the racket fore an' aft ; 75 The House of the Winds For I've left me grief ashore Let go for'ard, Let go for'ard, She was peachy pink, an' white, An' I wonder who to-night " Let go for'ard, Let GO for'ard, I won't do that any more. " There's a cure for you an' me, An' it's called the Open Sea, . . . I 'ave fell from 'igh estate, But I'll stand up square and straight In the mornin', An' the ugly thing that's me Will be bully of the sea In the mornin'. They 'ave shaken ev'ry fist, An' the girls 'ave all been kissed, " Let go for'ard, Let go for'ard ! An' 'eave a- way aft ! " The smoke pours from 7 er funnel, There's a rumble in the tunnel, Of the damned old shaft. 76 < Let Go For'ard ! ' Now it's hi ! the open way, And it's hail the morrow day ! An' a hundred miles from shore, Let go for'ard, Let go for'ard " I WON'T get drunk any more ! " 77 Boney I MET, one day, with Boney, By chance beside the Sea ; No gay -garbed youth and tony Might my acquaintance be ; For Truth's sweet sake, I own he Was e'en a Portugee, Who schnapper, bream, and tailer Purveyed for loaves or beers. A fisher now ; a sailor He'd been in other years, When old Ben Boyd, the whaler, Had use for harpooneers. Outside the hostel, loudly The passing ships a-gleam With paint and brasswork proudly Went up or down the stream ; Each dockyard miss avow'dly A serving-maid of Steam. The Age of Iron round us In clash and clamour lay ; 78 Boney And strict convention bound us To methods of To-day ; Yet Fancy somehow found us And bore us far away. We each were scant of money That morn beside the sea ; With pert contempt Enone Served out our ' thrippenny ' One rum set up by Boney, And one set up by me. Hard hit by Fate, together We spake of other shores, And saw a white surf feather His far-off high Azores, Where, in wild Western weather, The loud Atlantic roars. And then not greatly caring For either place or time But back in mem'ry faring To other land and clime, All scorned convention daring, I hummed a deep-sea rhyme ! 79 The House of the Winds He met it at the chorus, That half- forgotten song ; The new world lay before us ; For either right or wrong We rolled our glasses o'er us The old world right along ! " Then, ok, I've got to leave you, Though all the winds may blow ; Don't let my parting grieve you, Shell-ho, my lass, shell-ho ; fm sorry to deceive you, But I am bound to go." With shame I'm called to own he Was ' low ' as I was ' high ' No virtuoso Boney, And no Caruso I The scorn of fair Enone Was written in her eye. We roared that chantey over, With ne'er a windlass pawl- So Boney The chantey of the lover, Who hears the deep seas call, The old carousing rover Beneath its topmasts tall. 81 The Parting I CAN NOT bear the pain, dear lass ; I cannot let you go ! Around the capstan head they pass, Ye ho ! my lads, ye ho ! Oh ! every thought stabs like a knife, And ev'ry breath is pain ; You poured the sunlight in my life The dark night calls again. Dear lass, I cannot let you go ; I will not let you go, dear lass ; I dare not let you go. The wind blows East, the wind blows West ; Cold blows the wind for me ; The pairing gulls upon the crest Are better off than we. I would that we lay breast to breast To-night beneath the sea. That lips of love should ever meet In kisses born of fire ! 82 The Parting Oh ! tramp my heart beneath your feet, And crush me to the mire ; But let me taste once more the sweet, Glad cup of my desire ! I cannot bear the pain, dear lass ; I will not let you go ! Around the capstan head they pass, Ye ho ! ye ho ! ye ho ! The Stoke-hole NOW the tropics lie a-dreaming 'Mid their summer seas divine ; Phalanxed rollers, proudly creaming In a plumed cohort line, As the tourist ship goes steaming To the Islands, all a-shine. There's a grand piano playing Dainty operatic airs ; There's a travelled couple saying Sugared nothings on the stairs ; And the gilded purser's maying With the fairest of his fares. There are lots of fruits and ices, And abundance of champagne ; There are condiments and spices, There are whiskies squashed and plain For the Venuses and Vices Sailing pleasant o'er the main, There's a Devil down in Hades How his sweating stokers scream 84 The Stoke-hole In a manner lords and ladies Could not even dimly dream ; There's a Devil down in Hades, And his Christian name is Steam. By an iron ventilator In the upper deck of Hell, Some seraphic strayed spectator Might, from indications, tell That 'twas warm at the Equator, Where his damned inferiors dwell. So, the passenger, in suction, As his choice Havana draws, Could, by similar deduction, Learn from plain effect and cause That the Stoke-hole's hot construction Brings its own climatic laws. But, though sympathy's a treasure As the preachers strive to show Yet the traveller of leisure On these minions down below, Has a somewhat scanty measure Of that treasure to bestow. The House of the Winds For his gay saloon, like Heaven, Is so far and far away ; Where the lights fall soft and even, And the saints and angels play ; Where the silken Virtues seven Sit enthroned all the day. But the seven vulgar Vices In their fiery regions dwell ; They are left to their devices, And they frizzle good and well ; For there's neither wine nor ices In the Stoke-hole, nor in Hell. When you're leaning o'er the railing Of your floating Paradise (Like a blessed Virtue, sailing By the virtue of a Vice), Just remember, you're prevailing Through the Devil's sad device. Oh, my lady, pray remember, 'Mid your flutters and your sighs That it ain't no cool September For the Stoker as he fries 86 The Stoke-hole In a climate where the ember Of old Tophet never dies. Yes, your lordship, PLEASE remember- From December to December That the Stoke-hole ALWAYS fries. A Tale of Twenty Men A SAILOR from the salty South and such as sailors be A sailor from the briny North, they met upon the quay. "Ho! messmate there, what cheer? What ho ! Here be two comrades met, From ramping wind and roaring sea, both God- delivered yet." " But where's the news, and how's the news, and what's the last from hell ? With beer between and pipe between, what tales be there to tell ? From here and there ; from everywhere that ships and sailors go, What things of Love, and Drink, and Death, and fellowship dost know ? " How look the girls of Liverpool, the belles of New Orleans? How tastes the taste of British junk or Boston pork-and-beans ? 88 I A Tale of Twenty Men Is fever rife at Rio yet? What boats be out- ward bound ? Has any beggar got a berth ? Is any beggar drowned ? " A lassie waits by Plymouth Pier ; another at Kinsale, And I must leave my missus here, God's glory ! when I sail ; But pork and beans is beans and pork, and junk is junk alway, And our old tub she turned keel up, last year off Table Bay ! She'd tumbled round the north and south, she'd wallowed east and west ; She'd been a clipper in her day and paced it with the best ; Her staunch oak ribs have stood the brunt of North Atlantic seas, When oft and oft the Devil sat aloft on her cross-trees. We fetched her out across the world and brought her home to berth ; 89 The House of the Winds We took her in, we took her out, to ev'ry port on earth ; We dragged her round the frozen Horn, we slung her through the Strait ; We slewed her at the Hobs of Hell and never scratched a plate. We drove her down to Beelzebub our devils all in line Then brought her up beside the Pit and hitched her with a twine, A tow-line's length from Kingdom Come, amidst the hiss and roar, We turned about, all sober men, and coaxed her off the shore. We've seen her flaunt her figure-head at zenith in her climb, Then drop her bowsprit in the trough and point it at the slime One hundred fathoms underneath, where should have been her keel, With two tied sailor-men, by God ! half-fainting at her wheel. 90 A Tale of Twenty Men She's wallowed through the inky night, with never star to guide, She's seen the sea-fires glow and burn and heard the surges glide ; She's seen the black and lonely waste ; she's seen the waste sun lit ; And dipped to greet the ruddy Day and rose to welcome it. We've watched the day-god drop athwart the distant sea-line dim, And with the moonlight in our wake, due West we've followed him. We've heard and seen, and seen and heard! Strange tales have we to tell, Who've looked five oceans in the face and learned to know them well. But as she lay by Plymouth town the rats went down her side, And when he saw, with what he knew, her skipper cursed and cried ; But when her owners heard his tale they laid insurance by And filled her up from hold to hatch and sent her out to die. The House of the Winds With twenty men steeped to their lips in all the sins of men ; With twenty men cooped up like cats not knowing where nor when ; With twenty men to leave their bones, their loves, their hopes, and fears, Their rights and wrongs and all the rest, be- twixt two hemispheres ! They kissed their sins ashore good-bye, and drank their sins farewell, Then towed her down from Plymouth town and turned her out toward hell, And when she kicked her heels again upon the broad highway They lurched aloft to watch the world and give their sins ' Good-day.' They dragged her down along the track, a God-forsaken crew, And ev'ry knot she made they laughed, but longed to count it two ! With sweeping seas from stem to stern, with rotten ropes and gear, With mouldy tack for sustenance and brine instead of beer ; 92 A Tale of Twenty Men With twenty sinners keeping watch ; at graft by night and day ; With ten to man the pumps and curse, with ten maybe to pray ; With two of twenty swept astern and sent to fight their death, To meet the Horror in the dark that choked them breath by breath ! They fell about her slimy deck ; they clung to what they could ; Amid the crash of falling spars, the wrack of riven wood. They drowned like rats that would not drown for one-and-six a day They died to swell a bank-account that night off Table Bay. Aye, twenty things of bloated shape that sought a resting place, And three ship-owners shaking hands by God's own holy grace ; Aye, twenty things of clammy kind that, very shortly, stank, And three well-scented Englishmen with money in the bank. 93 The House of the Winds A sailor from the salty South and such as sailors be A seaman from the briny North come out across the sea, With beer between and pipe between they met, the tale to tell Of twenty men, all sailor-men, twice damned and sent to hell. 94 Meg o' Melbourne WE brought our old tub over With lumber, from the Sound One sinner jammed and crippled, A silly bo'sun drowned ; The shipping papers published These items in their news As half-a-score of sinners Got out upon the booze. Going large in Flinders-street Full of Melbourne rum All except the bo'sun Safe in Kingdom Come ; All except the bo'sun Resting deep and sound Seaweed in his whiskers, And fishes swimmin' round. " Ve go and haf our Gristmass," Says Olafsen, the Dane. " Ve get as trunk as plazes, Und never ship again ; 95 The House of the Winds Ve preak der plasted record, Ve ail-so preak our leave, Und gif der plasted skipper Some tings to make him grieve ! " The Sun beyond the Yarra Went reeling to his bed ; The lamp-posts danced cotillions The drunkest one ahead ; And when the Day was ended, Above the cable cars And whirling trams, collided A multitude of stars. She said she lived at Carlton Wherever that might be She " didn't take to sailors But somehow fancied me " : And some strange Dago wanted To stick me with his knife, All in the public parlour, To spill my precious life ! I've sometimes found a bottle A useful sort of thing 96 Meg o' Melbourne To grab where rows are started, And other whiles to fling ; I swung a full M'Ewan, And when they cleared the deck Meg's arms were gently clinging What-ho ! around my neck. There's nothing like a shindy, With just a smell o' blood, To rouse the latent instincts Of gentle Womanhood ; When Paris was a village Of fighting Eskimo, When London was a covert The Law was written so. And since the savage nations Grew civilized and tame, Below the paint and varnish The Law remains the same. The heir of Christian meekness When missiles start to hurl, He mostly gets the bottle The Pagan gets the Girl ! G 97 The House of the Winds So Meg and I were lovers Three summer months or more, A-billing and a-cooing Like dicky birds ashore ; Her hair was black and wavy, Her eyes were hazel-brown A pearl of tribulation Was Meg o' Melbourne town. " You mustn't go a-roving, A-roving on the Sea, But chuck the game for ever And bide, dear heart, with me." " I will not go a-roving, I'll stay ashore with you, I've known some other women, But this is Love and true ! " " We'll rent a little cottage With garden plot and stove, And all night long we'll sugar Our brimming cup of Love ! " She witched me with a whisper, She snared me with a touch 98 Meg o' Melbourne Two wives across the water, They didn't matter much. I took a little shanty Way out in Williamstown, And Meg and I were married, What-ho ! and settled down, And seven bob at lumping A day I sometimes made, Yes, seven bob at lumping A most ungodly trade. The story has a sequel, Most stories of the kind, In spite of priest or parson, Are bound to have, you'll find ; For all the planet over, From Cuba to Japan, The ancient law was written Of Woman and of Man. She "didn't care for sailors" Exceptions prove the rule She played the fickle lady, I played the howling fool ; 99 The House of the Winds " Three months without the option " The landsmen know the law ; I never studied statutes, And broke her landsman's jaw. I burst the happy dove-cage, A woeful deed to do, But other brutes have done it ; And so, mayhap, might you If, witched by hair of splendour And snared by eyes of brown, You saw good resolutions Go bung in Melbourne town. The Lover and his Lady, The Dove-cot and the Dream, A little drip of Heaven, A little sip of cream, The Jay-hawk and the Pigeon, Since e'er the World began ' Two women ' spell Gehenna Likewise, ' another man.' The story wears a sequel, And deep of hull she lies 100 Meg o' Melbourne With maze of spars and cordage Uprearing to the*skies ; And empty slop-chests for'ard And empty pockets here Oh, sing the same old ditty, " The Lover and his Dear ! " The brave new winch is clanging A rusty capstan song, And hi ! ye sons of ... Someone, Get up and shift along ! Get up, ye sore-head sinners, And haul your shore-lines home, To-night we'll set the watches Across the Tasman foam. Oh, " Whisky for my Johnny," And oh, the steady breeze, To bulge her snowy tops 'Is And lilt her through the seas. The cook about the galley, Importantly he goes, And from his flesh-pots steaming A reeking fragrance flows. 101 The House of the Winds The sun beyond the Yarra Sinks steadily to bed ; The stars in tens of thousands Shine soberly o'erhead. And Meg, with hair of splendour, And eyes of hazel-brown, Will find her consolation To-night in Melbourne town. 102 The Cutter Wongrabelle A Ballad of the Australian Coast SH E lay at anchor when they brought the news that Ned Malone Had broken, out on ' Spotted Dog,' his ribs and collar-bone ; That, on a cornsack stretcher now his mates were bearing slow Their shattered comrade from the claim, ten mountain miles or so. The summer's failing heart-blood stained each withered orchard leaf, And winter through the umber bush bewailed his ancient grief; A wolfish south wind, snarling hate, bit angrily the flanks Of hunted seas that sought the shores in long, close-crowded ranks. The bar had shallowed with the neap ; at each outgoing tide 103 The House of the Winds Swift liberated waters poured to meet the surge outside ; And where the tide and current met, a seethe of froth and sand In wild, witch cauldrons, hissing boiled, be- stirred by some drowned hand. John Newcombe owned the Wongrabelle ; and Newcombe's daughter May Looked seaward from the window-pane with strange set eyes that day A rosy lass with laughing lips, brown-armed, and blithe, and strong, As any girl of twenty-year, that iron coast along. The foam below Cape Everard was not more light and free ; Nor might the black swan on the lake as wildly graceful be ; But to the lads who paid her court, and dreamed she might be won, She shone as distant as the hills of Nadji in the sun. 104 The Cutter JVongrabelle Yet he was tall and he was young, broad- shouldered, brave, and high, Full dowered with the manly gifts that glad a woman's eye ; And, but a week agone, he'd come with Love's old tale to tell Lloyd Fletcher, out of Twofold Bay, who ran the Wongrabelle. The moon that evening like a globe of amber o'er the floor Of level waters slowly rose to light from shore to shore A mermaid's dance. Inverted, as by giant hands at play, The star-crowned shadows of the hills, deep- sunken, dreaming, lay. And all the inlet seemed to thrill warm, still, and passionate With soft glad echoes of the song that bids Life love and mate ; Thus had he told his tender tale, and she, in wilful way, Not knowing yet her heart mayhap, pronounced a school-girl " Nay." 105 The House of the Winds He turned his heel ; and down the track that found a grassy shore She watched a form whose shadow strode in seeming grief before ; And once she whispered, half aloud, " Come back," and once again Her breath had seemed to stab her side in quick, half-pleasant pain. But woman's whim and woman's way are like the tracks of God, That lie beyond the outer stars, unknown and e'er untrod, What secret springs gush through her soul all mud, or fresh and clear ; The minds of men at most surmise to either bless or fear. And now on beaches spray-obscured the hollow rollers tolled A Dead March in the scudded morn ; a falling glass foretold Worse weathers hatching in the south, but level seas or high, A wounded man must gain relief, or else the man must die. 1 06 The Cutter Wongrabelk For fifty miles of bridle track, thro' forest and divide, With ranges piled in broken lines, no injured man might ride ; By fifty miles of stormy coast the port of Eden lay, As well they knew, who bare him down, that winter morning grey. John Newcombe shook his hoary head and cleared his husky throat "God knows I'm willing, men, to risk, and double risk, the boat ; But human life's a diff rent thing ; there's no man near or far Would dare to take a craft to-day to yonder cruel bar. The wind is blowing half a gale and fresh'ning from the south, And if she chanced to cross the reef she'd barely live it out ; I'd risk my ship but not the rest; God help your injured man, But he must bide and take his chance ; we'll nurse him best we can." 107 The House of the Winds Cold silence fell upon the crowd. Then, self- contained and slow, Lloyd Fletcher spoke, " I'll face her out if any chap will go With me to tend this wounded man ; but, let him understand, Who puts his feet on yonder deck his life takes in his hand." Before the words had left his mouth, bull-roar- ing through his beard His prior claim and privilege, Tom Shannon volunteered. Nor did they cross his Celtic will, for well those miners knew That kinship's tie and mateship, too, long years had bound the two. "Now fifty sovereigns from the boys," cried swarthy ' Four-ounce Jim,' "Yon skipper lad shall have for this. Aye, either sink or swim " Lloyd Fletcher stayed him at the word " My lads, by God above, I take no payment from your hands, this trip I do for love" 1 08 The Cutter JVongrabelle His eyes were on May Newcombe's face, and as the words outran She bent to hide her tell-tale cheeks above the stricken man, And deftly smoothed his pillow down, and bid his heart be brave ; But other sign of what she felt, if feel she might, ne'er gave. They grouped upon the shore to watch, with anxious eyes, afar The Wongrabelle, of twenty tons, face bravely to the bar. " God keep her engine going good, her quick ignition sure ; God aid the dynamo," they prayed, " and hold the shaft secure." Great combers thundered down the beach, and at the entrance threw Their curling weight of waters green, as further out she drew. She passed the channel points at last, and then, with sickened soul, May saw her meet with pouring decks the high incoming roll. 109 The House of the Winds " She's on the bar," John Newcombe cried, and wrung his wrinkled hands. " She's gone!" they sobbed. "She's not! She lifts ! Oh, God, he's struck the sands ! " May Newcombe's fingers bruised her palms ; the sky grew darkened then ; And women sobbed and curses rose from mouths of anguished men. They saw her rally in the spume. She staggered, shook, uprose, Like some game bantam pugilist from quick and heavy blows. One mighty roller rose ahead ; then, slowly lifting, curled, And breaking with a roar of doom its full weight on her hurled. The women turned their heads away. The seconds lagged like years ; Then, like a wounded duck, that dives and lamely reappears, Dismasted, swept, but floating still and on a moving keel, The Wongrabelle came gamely up, with Fletcher at her wheel, no The Cutter JVongrabette She dived a hollow trough adown, and, on a rising wave, Went out across that awful bar, the little cutter brave ; And had the echoes not been lost amid the hiss and roar The gallant Fletcher might have heard them cheering from the shore. May Newcombe tore with joyous laugh, and flung its fragments high Toward Eden Town, the pencilled scrawl that bore his curt ' Good-bye.' Then on she passed, and down she passed, and through the paddock gate Went out and called like bells a-ring her black mare, Bonny Kate. The saddle to her silken side was e'er so quickly flung ; The bridle on her glossy neck by deft hands gently hung ; Then straight she rode and fast she rode the hills and gullies o'er, Her house frock flying in the wind, and ne'er a hood she wore. in The House of the Winds She found her journey's end ere noon then wrote a note and turned Her homeward way with eyes alight and cheeks that redly burned, For down the line to Twofold Bay the Morse was clicking free " God bless the Wongrabelle, and you come back and marry me." He wed her at the Christmastide, and Ned Malone was gay Enough to stumble through a dance, the good bush gossips say ; But down the coast and round the coast the mates and captains tell How Fletcher brought across the bar his cutter Wongrabelle. I 12 A Capstan Chantey WHAT did the captain say to the cook When the ship went down the river ? I've left my girl in Melbourne town, Her hair was black and her eyes were brown ; And I'll love my girl for ever." Wey-ho ! We'll love the girls for ever ! What did the cook to the captain say When the ship went down the river ? " I've left my gal in Melbourne too, Her hair was gold and her eyes were blue ; And I'll love my gal for ever." Wey-ho ! We'll love the gals for ever ! What did the crew at the capstan sing As the old tank nosed the river ? " We've left our gals in Melbourne town, With eyes of blue and eyes of brown ; And we'll love our gals for ever." Hey ! We will forget them never ! What did the cook to the captain say As the ship^came down the river ? H 113 The House of the Winds " I've left my gal in London town, Her hair is black and her eyes are brown, And I'll love my gal for ever." What did the captain say to the cook As the ship swung down the river ? " I've left my girl in London too, Her hair is gold and her eyes are blue, And I'll love my girl for ever." What did the crew at the capstan sing ? Nothing at all but the same old thing As the ship came down the river ; " We've left our loves in London town, And some were black and some were brown, But we'll love our loves for ever." L'ENVOI So blow your money, my bullies all (The old tank's down the river), Blow your money and knock it down ; For some are short and some are tall, And some are black and some are brown, And the world goes round for ever. 114 The Fleets THE Black Finn lay in his bunk agasp Sore fretted his soul for flight ; " I owed thee a favour once," said he, " Bend down till I give thee sight! "... He touched his eyes where the death-films spread, then clammily touched he mine " Now, open the port-hole wide," he cried, "and repayment shall be thine! " The night was crowned with a lakh of stars ; but west, where the sun had died, His blood burned red at the sea-line yet, and sorrowful mourned the tide. . . . This was the gift of the dying Finn : A-cover- ing all the Seas, I saw the ships of the Seas, in line, come over the centuries. I heard them bringing their anchors up in the harbours of Cockayne, I heard them laying their anchors down at the Blessed Isles again ; "5 The House of the Winds The corposants at their mast-heads glowed. Betimes, as they passed me by, I saw the stars through their sails afar, shine dim in the lower sky ! The Ancient Sire in his fire-scooped bole, rowed first through the falling dusk His flint axe-head by a tough thong tied, his spear of the mammoth tusk : And o'er the boom of the brooding waves, I heard as he paddled on The hungry growl of the Great Cave Bear, the tramp of the Mastodon. The echoes died in a voice of crowds as out from the Tigris' mouth The bulrush boat of a Bagdad sheik came roll- ing her cargo South ; Her strong palm wine in its earthen jars, her dates on their green leaves laid, To passion the lord of Babylon, and pleasure the Hittite maid. . . . Soft fell the clink of a brazen bell, and under our counter passed 116 The Fleets A quaint-built craft of acanthus wood, on her twin acanthus mast A papyrus sail, all lotus-flowered ; reclined in its shade a girl With deep, orbed eyes of the despot East, and a mouth of rose and pearl. . . . I heard the roll of the Prakritt speech, and a galley tall rode on, All clinker-built of a cedar trunk from the Mount of Lebanon : Her deep keel leaped to the mighty sweep of the thrashing three-banked oars, As she held away from the pirate hands that itched by the Tuscan shores. " But this," I cried, " from the dockyards wide of the blue Piraeus swung ; These be the men who have wrought with stone and written in Homer's tongue." I hailed them loud as their brave ship passed, and the echoes answered me : " Oh sang the seas when the world was young ; sweet was the song of the sea ; 117 The House of the Winds The days are dead and the days will die, but liveth the Odyssey." The Black Finn muttered a Nor'land spell and groaned like a dog in pain "I owed thee a favour twice," said he, "look out on the seas again ! " I looked, and lo ! from the Ten Lost Isles to the Island of San Chen-San, From Hy-Brasil to the Port of Lob, the host of their numbers ran : Tied in the link of a thousand years, the Celt, in his skin canoe, Rode prow and prow with a Kentish chief hard pulled by a painted crew ; And, linked again by a thousand years, a proa with her sail aback Rode neck and neck with the Hunting Man in his walrus -hide kayak. The long, beaked neck of a Punic barge shot by like a scared sea-snake, 118 The Fleets Her lights ablaze on the brazen helms of the Latin foe a- wake, Abiding not to his haughty hail they galloped along the foam, " The gods that ye know avail ye not ! Give heed to the gods of Rome ! " Aye, now the Cub of the Wolf at Rome a- cleaving the seas doth go, To clear the road to the Westward Isles that her traders' keels may know The weight of the British hides and wool and the Western fish and game, That garnish the proud patrician board of the Proud Patrician Dame. The Black Finn moaned on his bed of Death. " Make haste ere I go," he cried ; " A favour thrice have I owed to thee ; now open the port-hole . . . wide !"...: From the silken South, the sinewed North, from the shining East and West, With their pale corpse-candles all alight and the four Winds all at rest. 119 The House of the Winds They drifted in from the Bay of Sleep and the Gulf of Acheron, They drifted out from the Isle of Souls ; from the Isles of Avalon ; They steamed from the frozen Dumslaf Land, away in the frozen seas ; From Fly-away-Cape, in Isle-au-Sein, and the famed Hesperides. The outer plain with their host was hid, and the inner plain was filled With ev'ry rig that the seas have known ; with every make and build. A mat-sailed junk of the China Coast and a white-washed Arab dhow They passed to port and to starboard on with the liner built of now. The narrow ships of the Creekmen bold spread their strong black raven wings, With blue-sailed boats of the Irish bays and fleets of the Saxon Kings. A bucentaur, with her long red oars and a high- decked hull of Spain, They rode with the tubs that traded wool for the wine of Aquitaine ; 1 20 The Fleets With Black Sea tubs of the Genoese, with the cruisers of Algiers, With slavers, pirates, and corsair- men in their fighting privateers ; With koffs which carried the Dutchman's goods langsyne to the Javanese, And Mogul's ships that were fain to yield to the plundering Portuguese. The fleets of the Nations gathered in, the fleets of the Nations grew, But the Fleet of the Little Islands spread till they counted six to two. Along the Downs and abreast the Sands, like a great cloud came they forth, And some went West to the Seas Unknown, and some to the South and North. Then heard I a Voice from over-seas, and the Voice in thunders spake : " The spoil of the world is his for aye who courage shall find to take ; The codfish spawns on the Banks for him ; the bees of the Alp slopes toil, The fruits of the fruiting Earth are his ; the corn, the wine, and the oil ! " 121 The House of the Winds A silence fell on the Nations all. Then a strong-tongued voice up-spoke : " With grammars and guns we go, oh Lord ! with the Heart of Steel and Oak ; The plunder of Antwerp first we take, but, Lord, ere our flags be furled, We'll spoil the spoilers of all the earth and loot the loot of the world. Our English blondes in the rajah's silks shall shine as they walk arrayed, Our workmen's hands they are deft to build, and our hearts be unafraid ; We've lack o' sable for Whitehall folk, and port for our noble dames, And the weed that grows where Raleigh went in spite of our good King James ! The Doge of Venice may bite his beard, and counsel his lords profound, The Turk hath greeted our Tudor Queen, and the Susan's outward bound ; She's ta'en a cargo of London truck, and her skipper trusts in God, 122 The Fleets The length o' stroke and the strength of oak and his great guns thirty-odd. ..." I saw them spreading and spreading far, yea, over the utmost seas : The black-hulled catts of the Steelyard firms, and the Livery Companies ; The sailing-ships of the First Great Queen, the steaming ships of the Last, By the rogues of the realm all stoutly manned, and the red flag at the mast. The last to cross was a battleship of a clean ten thousand tons, A two-foot wall of twice-tempered steel and a grinning tier of guns ; Her triple-expansion engines throbbed at touch of her engineers, She lit the seas with her bright arc-light and blotted away the years. She hulled them down on St Brandon's Road, and I watched them one by one, Till the last great liner thundered out, and the last drab tramp was gone. 123 The House of the Winds The stars lay still on the lonely seas, I turned to the Finn, and said : "Whither in truth have the good ships gone?" but the lean Black Finn was dead. 124 Johnny's Church THEY'VE broken up the meeting, They've called the Consuls home, The shoreward drums are beating Like pulses in the gloom. The torn, red flag of story Is flapping high for glory, Or waving low for doom. Now, who's to give the text out, And lead the choir to-day ? Now who's to read the text out, And tell the band to play ? They've done the talk and writing, But who's to do the fighting, And make the fighting pay ? Oh, don't you hear him cheering ? Oh, can't you hear him swear ? In line o' battle nearing The scowling squadrons there ! The heavy guns he's sighting, For of the Lion's fighting He takes the lion's share. 125 The House of the Winds Now once they asked a teacher And strange the sermon runs For Johnny was the preacher, The Deacon of the Guns ; The world had need of teaching, And Johnny did the preaching ; His pulpit housed the guns. His church is paved with powder, And roofed with grape and shell, And from its belfry louder The peals of battle knell, With pointed steel-shot singing, And red-mouthed rifles ringing, In volleys, for the bell. His text, in bright lines written, Gleams o'er the chancel grey Two glowing words, war-litten, Two words ' Trafalgar Bay ' Two words that die not ever, Two words that burn for ever, Two words ' Trafalgar Bay ! ' So when our pocket money Around we freely fling, 126 Johnny's Church We'll stand a drink for Johnny, Churchwarden to the King ; For Jack's a handy teacher, A most converting preacher, When loud the broadsides ring. Tis his that text to glisten The smoke of conflict through ; And all the world will listen, And hold his sermon true ; If Johnny goes a-teaching His lesson once again, .If Johnny goes a-preaching With glory in his train. 127 A Ballad of the Captains WHERE are now the Captains Of the narrow ships of old Who with valiant souls went seeking For the Fabled Fleece of Gold ; In the clouded Dusk of Ages, In the Dawn of History, When the ringing songs of Homer First re-echoed o'er the Sea ? Oh, the Captains lie a-sleeping Where great iron hulls are sweeping Out of Suez in their pride ; And they hear not, and they heed not, And they know not, and they need not In their deep graves far and wide. Where are now the Captains Who went blindly through the Strait, With a tribute to Poseidon A libation poured to Fate ? They were heroes giant-hearted, That with Terrors, told and sung, Like blindfolded lions grappled, When the World was strange and young. 128 A Ballad of the Captains Oh, the Captains brave and daring, With their grim old crews are faring Where our guiding beacons gleam ; And the homeward liners o'er them All the charted seas before them Shall not wake them as they dream. Where are now the Captains From bold Nelson back to Drake, Who came drumming up the Channel, Haling prizes in their wake ? Where are England's fighting Captains Who, with battle flags unfurled, Went a-rieving all the rievers O'er the waves of all the world ? Oh, these Captains, all confiding In the strong right hand, are biding In the margins, on the Main ;] They are shining bright in story, They are sleeping deep in glory, On the silken lap of Fame. Where are now the Captains Who regarded not the tears i 129 The House of the Winds Of the captured Christian maidens Carried, weeping, to Algiers ? Yes, the swarthy Moorish Captains, Storming wildly 'cross the Bay, With a dead hidalgo's daughter As a dower for the Dey ? Oh, those cruel Captains never Shall sweet lovers more dissever, On their forays as they roll ; Or the mad Dons curse them vainly, As their baffled ships, ungainly, Heel them, jeering, to the Mole. Where are now the Captains Of those racing, roaring days, Who of knowledge and of courage, Drove the clippers on their ways To the furthest ounce of pressure, To the latest stitch of sail, 1 Carried on ' before the tempest Till the waters lapped the rail ? Oh, the merry, manly skippers Of the traders and the clippers, They are sleeping East and West, 130 A Ballad of the Captains And the brave blue seas shall hold them, And the oceans five enfold them In the havens where they rest. Where are now the Captains Of the gallant days agone ? They are biding in their places, And the Great Deep bears no traces Of their good ships passed and gone. They are biding in their places, Where the light of God's own grace is, And the Great Deep thunders on. Yea, with never port to steer for, And with never storm to fear for, They are waiting wan and white, And they hear no more the calling Of the watches, or the falling Of the sea rain in the night. Thine Ain Countree SHE was squalid and unlovely, and her tattered jib and brown, Like a greasy, vulgar dish-clout in the evening light flapped down But our hearts went out to meet her, And our glad souls rose to greet her, And we cheered that little trader from the wharves of Sydney town. It is ever what you're bred to In your own old line ; It is ever what you're led to Sin' the days of Auld Lang Syne. We had climbed the purple ranges ; crossed the level plains and wide ; We had ridden with the stockmen on the burning Western side ; But we hungered for the daughters Of the Overlords of Waters - / For the thunder of the breakers, and the tumble of the tide. 132 Thine Ain Countree Let the lion to his desert ; Live the oyster on his shore : But the hunger of the exile It shall hurt him evermore. She was innocent of outline ; she was ugly and unclean ; She was not a painted liner or the pride of Aberdeen ; But it gripped us as we neared her, And we gat us up and cheered her, For the sake of what we cared for, and the sake of What- Has- Been. Oh, the kitchen-maid's a lady when the lady's at the ball, And the palm-tree in the desert is the fairest of them all Shall the heart forget its true love For the glamour of the new love ? Shall the grapes from thorns be garnered, or the figs from thistles fall ? And she told us of the waters, and she spake of open seas, 133 The House of the Winds When she grumbled down the river with her engines all a-wheeze ; Then our hearts went to those places, And the tears were on our faces, For a man is but an infant when it comes to things like these. It is ever what you're bred to, And you find it as you go That you're tempted back and led to Little things of ' long ago.' So we followed her in fancy till she swung across the bar, And we saw her lights a-blinking on the heave and roll afar, By the magic fay whose touches Turn the scullion to a duchess, Make the kitchen-maid a lady and the tallow- dip a star. They shall pine beyond the rivers for the rollers and the foam, They shall pine beyond the rollers for the rivers as they roam : Thine Ain Countree She was ugly, and we loved her, She was nothing, but we loved her, For she told us of our Country and she sang to us of Home. '35 The Nor'-Easter TIS ever good and gentle, 'Tis always cool and kind When Hell lies on the tropics, And men go mad and blind, The silken, soft Nor'-Easter, The languid lady breeze That God sends down from China, A dove across the seas. A-swinging in my hammock, Beneath a singing pine, I hear the glad white horses Race homeward all a-line ; The sea spray drifting forward, Across a dreamy reach Of yellow sands that circle The misty moonlit beach. And yonder, on the sea wall, The good fat oysters cling ; And yonder up the river The glutted black ducks wing 136 The Nor'-Easter And when the tide comes surging Across and round the shoals, They'll hook the hungry black bream And spear the drifting soles. Oh, let me clasp, Juanita, Your loveliness again, You wond'rous flower of Ireland, You wond'rous fruit of Spain ! While all the stars, in splendid, Still majesty on high, Slow wheel and circle Westward Across a Queensland sky. 'Twas but last night I kissed you Along yon harbour wall ; And you, dear heart, resisted, Resisted not at all. And lo ! those gates of Heaven, I don't expect to see, With sudden crash of music, Burst open unto me. Wild gipsy of the Beaches, Wild daughter of the Sun, 137 The House of the Winds What rover's hearts before me Have you not coaxed and won ? For ships, ere mine, cast anchor Below yon shallow quay, And shipmen, too, have dallied, My dark-eyed dream, with thee. For Spain and Ireland's flotsam, If Rumour whispers true, Were sinful sire and mother, Carissima, to you ; And in your veins makes riot The red, transmitted fire That wastes the souls of wooers On altars of Desire. But out to-night, beloved, With warnings dull and sour ! Whatever is is right, Love : I'll live my fervent hour ; And you shall be Sultana And Queen of All the Girls, And I shall rule, a Sultan, This coast of Palm and Pearls. 138 The Nor'-Easter Dark daughter of the Beaches, Whose eyes are arched by night, Whose red mouth madly beckoned A lover to delight ; My throbbing Soul of Passion, Though this a ' love of shame ' Be held by pious purists The climate's most to blame. For, let the pious purist Just even so recline, A heart beside him throbbing Beneath a scented pine, And let him drink the glamour The glory of it all God help your gentle purist, God guard him lest he fall ! Across the moonlit waters A scent of tuberose And mangrove and magnolia The cool Nor'-Easter blows ; Oh, all the way from China, From merry Kobe town, Past Java and the Indies This poppied wind comes down. 139 The House of the Winds They bless it at Port Darwin, And round the Gulf they hail The precious wind that bellies The pearling lugger's sail. Now, south from Thursday Island, Among the coral isles, 'Tis singing, like an anthem, For twice a thousand miles, While lovers down the Clarence, And lovers on the Tweed, Drink in its virgin coolness And on its freshness feed, The laughing, lush Nor'-Easter The languid, lady breeze, The Lord sends down from China To glad His glowing seas. Juanita! Oh, Juanita ! The sky is white with stars; The surf is making music Across the river bars. Juanita! Oh, Juanita! Your arms and bosom white Would lure the proud archangels To earth again to-night. 140 The Nor'-Easter To-morrow, love, to-morrow You'll hear the capstan bring Our anchor from the coral, And hear the chantey ring ; Then, feeling for the channel, Her tops'ls swinging low, And bowsprit pointing seaward, My ship, alas ! must go. But when the light Nor'-Easter Your face will cool and kiss, In other nights of glory, In other nights of bliss ; When on a cloth of velvet The silver stars are sown, I'll dream of you, Juanita, Of you of you alone. From Townsville unto Timor, From Sidney round to Perth, And round again to London, And round and round the earth, Beneath the Cross star-crowded, Beneath the great North Bear, Wherever ship shall bear me Your mem'ry will be there. 141 The House of the Winds The wharves of Honolulu, The quays of Callao, Wherever cargoes carry, Wherever sailors go ; And on the lone, wide waters, Beneath the lone, wide sky, Twill grieve me and 'twill glad me, Beloved, 'till I die. 'Tis always good and gentle, 'Tis ever fond and kind The little soft Nor'-Easter, The little lover's wind ; The silken soft Nor'-Easter, The languid lady breeze, That God sends down from China To cool His summer seas. 142 A Thousand Years Between THE snow on the sleeping fir trees Grew red in a band of light, As the huge logs flared and beaconed Far off through a Northern night ; Where, sprawled on their rude oak benches, The wine-drunk Northmen tall, Loud chorused a battle saga, In their Viking's fire-lit hall. The smoke-grimed roof-tree trembled As higher the war words rang ; In clamouring measure rising, Attuned to an armoured clang. Cold stars, in a steel-white glory, Paled out in a boreal morn, And the Night-wind carried the story Of a warrior's son, new born. On the shield of a bardic chieftain Was the wolf-cub lifted high ; And his bull-lunged kinsfolk hailed him As the night went roaring by. The House of the Winds He played with the skulls and spearheads When his sire, with a baresark band Went over the seas to harry The carlins of Engle-land. He chafed in his high rock eyrie, And ever his soul grew strong, Full fed with the deeds of heroes And story and battle song. At length, as the seers foretold him Man-grown, on the shingled shore, He stood, with his youth behind him, And the heroes' road before. " I will hew my way to a kingdom," The voice in his young heart said ; " I will set my feet to a kingdom, Though the path of my feet runs red." The beak of his black ship pointed To the North Seas grey and deep, As out from the wild bleak fiord She went with her oars a-sweep. 144 A Thousand Years Between And a maiden waited lonely On the hills of Norroway, And a maiden waited lonely Through many a long dead day. He fared with his fourscore fighters ; And oft did the Erse bards sing The deeds of a Daneland rover, The death of a red Erse king. The harps of the bards were wailing Their woe in an Irish vale, As, out on the dim Atlantic, There faded a foeman's sail. In the halls of their grim Valhalla The souls of his rovers sate ; But the Viking's son went sailing Alone through the Western gate. O'er scream of the wild, weird waters ; Doomstruck, on a night-black sea, Shouting his lone death saga Unfeared, to his end went he. K M5 The House of the Winds The tiller of Earth to cover him Hath ever his meed of mould ; But over the deep-sea rover The waves of the world are rolled. There was neither a shout of wassail, Nor clamour of shield and sword, In the house of Olaf Peters By the high- walled Norse fiord. But a wrinkled midwife mumbled : " Henceforth when thy port is won Thou wilt kiss, O Olaf Peters, The head of thy firstborn son." He played on the Norland shingle, Where a Viking's ship once lay, This child of a nomad toiler, This heir of a newer day. He followed her painted funnel, As the whaling steamer sped, Where the light of far Fruholmen On the breaking seas burns red. 146 A Thousand Years Between And the English tourists, safely, Came over the seas in packs, With never a fear of blunting The edge of a Northman's axe. But the Voice of the Waters wooed him, As ever her Voices may ; And a maiden waited lonely On the hills of Norroway. Yea, a maiden, watching lonely As many a maid hath done Still hopes for the glad home-faring Of Olaf Peterson. But a Baltic tramp, come over For her cargo of Yankee pork, Brought tidings of little moment To the scribes of far New York. 'Twas merely a log-book entry, Scrawled large by a busy mate, Of a gale in the North Atlantic And a foreign sailor's fate. . . . i t i . 147 The House of the Winds Hurled to the howling surges, Swept from a wave- washed yard, Olaf, the young Norse seaman, Dieth his line death hard. Down in that black, mad vortex, Up on the curling crests ; Down, as his strong limbs stiffen, Down, where the Viking rests. . . . So to the place appointed One from the Days of Sword, One from the Years of Wages, Out of the same fiord. Proud lord of the grand old by-road, Poor slave of the new and mean, They rest on the great west high road, With a thousand years between. They bide, at the last, together One from the years sublime, One from the new years sordid, Equals in death and time. 148 A Thousand Years Between The tiller of earth to cover him Hath ever his meed of mould, But over the deep-sea rover The waves of the world are rolled. 149 Hulks DIM lights shine down on the Harbour, bright lights along the Quay ; The watch-light slowly turneth across the Tasman Sea The watch-light on its headland, that, like some proud and great Armed sentinel high standeth to ward the Eastern Gate. Glad lights burn down the fairway, and song and shout of life From high-hulled fleets of commerce with city sounds make strife ; But, moored among the shadows, while all the world goes by, Like cripples in some poorhouse, the old hulks dreaming lie. Poor pensioned paupers waiting, with tired and aching bones, The falling of the curtain, to rest with Davy Jones. 150 Hulks Green slime upon their sheathing, dry caulking in their seams Some common daily purpose, and nightly naught but dreams. But if the proud, strong steamers who lightly come and go Oh, if the proud, smart steamers could only hear and know ! Or if those flounced, fast ladies, with patent rig and gear, If they had ears to listen, what stories might they hear ! Yes, they might hear the wonders these brave old hulks could tell, If ships had tongues for speaking, if ships had souls as well ; For ships and men have battled around the seven seas, And in their hearts oft carry, who knows what memories ? They tell of long-dead captains, and long-gone sailors bold, The House of the Winds Who fared the Treasure-Seekers to Lands of Grief and Gold, Who brought our English fathers across the fearsome seas, Who bore our Irish mothers to States and Colonies. They'd sing the Black-ball clippers, old Money Wigram's fleet, Stout barks and sterling skippers who put unshrinking feet In doorways deep of danger, and at the gates of Hell Defied the devil's legions and fought their devil well. They'd sing no young sea dandies, with soft shore-going ways, But hard-faced, hard-reared sailors of old, dead sailing days. They knew no patent rigging. 'Twas " Up aloft ye fly, And take yer flaming chances to live it out or die ! " 152 Hulks Aye, crowd her swaying ratlines, and on t'gallant yard, Hang on by teeth and toe nails, and curse your chances hard. Her scuppers green sea spewing, a good three- quarter gale A-whooping from the sky-line " Aloft and take in sail ! " And crouching on her poop there, some fifty feet below, The man who bossed the oceans till fifty years ago, With salt crust on his whiskers and coarse hair on his chest The man who sneered at Progress, and bore it South and West. Caps off ye longshore sailors! and let your hands salute The man who sowed sour sorrow that ye might eat sweet fruit ! Caps off, ye feckless deck-hands ! The grateful engineer, Beside his gauge glass standing, to his paternal peer 153 \ The House of the Winds A greasy waste-wad raises ; for if by chance she strip The blades from her propeller, he learns of seamanship. And, ladies in your cabins, with conquered seas to hymn Your thoughts to pleasant fancies ; through curtained portholes dim, Look out on yonder surges that curling fall and break And die in soft subsidence behind your steamer's wake ; And in your minds behold him lashed on the bridge below, Before ye sink in slumber Oh ! he'd be glad to know. Moored deep among the shadows an old hulk faintly hears, Beyond the Present calling, the Voices of the Years ; And as a squat North-Coaster comes thumping down the Bay, 154 Hulks One moment at her moorings she tugs in mournful way. She sees, to port and starboard, the red light and the green The jewels ocean housemaid still wears with ocean queen. The chart-room door falls open ; and, red cigar to lip, Reflective, leans against it, the skipper of the ship. But for'ard, in the darkness, the peering look- out stands A fair-haired Swede with knowledge of foreign seas and lands ; His father drowned before him, two brothers lost at sea Ten centuries out yonder he might a Viking be ; Mayhap ancestral echoes, borne down along the tide, Now make him hold a second his rolling sailor stride ; And, as the old hulk visions within the gliding light, 155 The House of the Winds He waves his hand toward her and whispers low "Good night!" She hides among the shadows, dismasted, old, unclean, Her decks with coal-dust blackened, her copper slimed and green ; A pensioner of Progress, but in her roaring days, A white-dressed dainty lady who tripped the waterways. And as the new ships pass her too proud to care or know, Bound in with wear of travel, bound out where live ships go A strange ship-moan escapes her ; and weird and lone she sighs, To see once more unbounded the great, arched water skies. To feel once more beneath her the breathless heave and roll Of brave blue seas that girdle the earth from pole to pole, 156 Hulks To see the star host mirrored so crowded and so deep, And watch the sea fires flicker and hear the dolphins leap. But, worn-out ships like men are, to whom the drift of years Leaves naught but recollection, the longings and the tears. Like dim, fast-fading visions of days that dawn no more The Old Hulks in the shadows are hulks, and nothing more. NEW VERSE IF I GOES WEST! By 'A TOMMY' Size 7 by 5 inches. Bound in Attractive Boards, with Colour Jacket, 2s. 6d. net "The cheery, blunt philosophy of the campaigning soldier, given with a grit and forth-rightness which never lets it become doggerel. Indeed, there is so much concealed art in the way the turn of the verses fits the cha- racter that the ' Tommy ' must certainly be a literary ' Tommy."' Times Literary Supplement. ' ' Though the war has not so far touched the sleeping soul of any Milton or Shakespeare, it has awakened scores of men with a real poetic fervour and expression. This ' Tommy ' must be counted among them, for several of his pieces bear the true impress of poetry and reality. . . . All the pro- ductions have an esprit of their own and a quiet, melodious fervour that four years of resistance have not quenched." Aberdeen Free Press. FOR THE LOVER OF CHILDREN THE LITTLE GOD By KATHARINE HOWARD With Colour Frontispiece by MARGARET W. 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