Songs of Sea and Sail — Context and Discussion

Has had many a shave--for logs don't tell All the tales of a steamer's bridge.

In silence we watch her for quite a time Until she becomes a smoky blear, Then as ten rings out from the fo'c'sle chime I go aft to my cheese and my beer.

A cloudless sky, a sleeping sea, A cold gray reach of shore, A gleam of sail upon the lee-- And nothing more.

My eyes saw that, my heart saw more: A woman whose quivering lip Moulded this sentence o'er and o'er, "God keep that ship!"

God keep that ship! Her prayer, not mine, Goes out across the sea To where beyond the misty line A face is turned from me. God keep that ship! Her ship, not mine-- Mine never came back to me.

The fore-royal furled, I pause and I stand, Both feet on the yard, for a look around, With eyes that ache for a sight of the land, For we are homeward bound.

Like a bowl of silver the ocean lies, Untouched by the fret of a single sail, And over its edge the billows uprise And slide before the gale.

I see, close beneath me, the garn's'l bulge, And half of the tops'l swollen and round Swells out above, where the bunts divulge The fores'l's snowy mound.

With a fill and a flap the jibs respond, As she rolls a-weather, then rolls a-lee, And her bone as she leaps is thrown beyond The next o'ertaken sea.

And the hull beneath in its foamy ring Is narrowed in by the spread of sail, And the waves as they wash her seem to fling Their heads above the rail.

And I hear the roar of the passing blast, And the hiss and gush of the parted sea Is mixed with the groan of the straining mast, And the parrel's, che, che, che.

Of the weather deck where the old man strides, From the break of the poop to the after-rail, I can catch a glimpse, but all besides Is hid by swelling sail.

For the wake abaft is shut behind, Except when she yaws from her helm and throws; Then like a green lane it seems to wind Aheap with drifted snows.

But lo! as I gaze the weather clew Of the topsail lifts to the watch's weight, And the helmsman comes into perfect view, And at his side the mate.

As I swing my eyes ahead again For that one last look ere I drop below, They catch as she lifts a grayish stain Athwart the orange glow.

My heart leaps up at the welcome sight, And I grasp the pole with a firmer hand, And shading my eyes from the glancing light Make sure that it is land.

It seems to dance, but I catch it still As we lift to the sweep of a longer sea-- 'Tis the windy top of a far-off hill Whose shape is known to me.

Then I send a yell to the rolling deck, And start all hands from their work below; As I point with a rigid arm at the speck-- The cry comes back, "Land ho!"

And the mate looks up and gives a call, The old man stops in his clock-like walk, The watch lets up on the top-sail fall And takes a spell of talk.

The skipper goes aft to the binnacle, where He shapes his hand on the compass card, And takes with a glance the bearing there, Eying me on the yard.

And I stand with my right arm swinging out, With a finger true on the dancing speck, Until on my ears falls the ringing shout: "All right! Lay down on deck!"

The great ships in the harbour Sit silent on the tide, And in the sea beneath them Their gloomy shadows ride.

There is no life, no beauty, No grace the heart can feel, In those irenic monsters-- Those hideous forms of steel.

It is old England's squadron, Her constant watch and ward-- The bulwark of her freedom, The Channel's matchless guard.

How different from the frigates That bore the dauntless Blake; How different from the liners That roared in Nelson's wake!

Majestic then and lofty They towered above the deep, Bestowing beauty on the main Their forms were framed to keep.

Sail over sail they offered Their canvas to the wind, That mimicked in its whiteness The wake they swept behind.

No wonder kingly seamen Were bred in ships like those; No wonder that they made them A terror to their foes.

For in the grace and beauty They shed upon the sea Man found the inspiration That kept him brave and free.

And man and ship together Played well that noble part, Until their oaken sides became A symbol for his heart.