Songs of the Sea and Lays of the Land — Context and Discussion

any with half-doors over whose end Leaning upon her elbows, the good-wife At eventide conversed with many a friend Of all the little chances of their life; Small ripples in a stream which ran full slow In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And ’mid these houses was a Hostelrie Frequented by the people of the sea, Known as the Boy and Barrel, from its sign: A jolly urchin on a cask of wine Bearing the words which puzzled every eye— _Orbus In Tactu Mainet_[1] Heaven knows why. Even there a bit of Latin made a show, In the North End of Boston—long ago.

And many a sailor, when his cruise was o’er, Bore straight for it soon as he touched the shore: In many a stormy night upon the sea He’d thought upon the Boy—and of the spree He’d have when there, and let all trouble go, In the North End of Boston, long ago.

There, like their vessels in a friendly port, Met many mariners of every kind, Spinning strange yarns of many a varied sort, Well sheltered from the ocean and the wind; In a long low dark room they lounged at ease; Strange men there were from many a distant land, And there above the high old chimney-piece Were curiosities from many a strand, Which often made strange tales and memories flow In the North End of Boston, long ago.

And there I often sat to hear those tales, From men who’d passed through storm and fight and fire, Of mighty icebergs and stupendous whales, Of shipwrecked crews and of adventures dire, Until the thought came to me on a time, While I was listening to that merry throng, That I would write their stories out in rhyme, And weave into it many a sailor’s song, That men might something of the legends know Of the North End of Boston, long ago.

First it was said that Captain Kidd in truth Had revelled in that tavern with his crew, And there it was he lost the Golden Tooth Which brought him treasure, and the gossips knew Moll Pitcher dwelt there in the days of yore, And Peter Rugg had stopped before the door: Tom Walker there did with the Devil go In the North End of Boston, long ago.

Nor had I long to wait, for at the word Some one observed that he had seen in Spain A captain hung—which Abner Chapin heard And said, “I too upon the Spanish Main Met with a man well known unto us all, Who nearly hung a Captain General.” He told the tale and I did rhyme it so; In the North End of Boston, long ago.

There was a Captain General who ruled in Vera Cruz, And what we used to hear of him was always evil news; He was a pirate on the sea—a robber on the shore: The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam, His name was Stephen Folger and Nantucket was his home, And having gone to Vera Cruz he had been skinned full sore By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone, He said, “If there is Vengeance, I will surely try it on! And I do wish I may be damned if I don’t clear the score With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”

He shipped a crew of seventy men—well-arméd men were they, And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away, And sailing back to Vera Cruz was sighted from the shore, By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

With twenty-five _soldados_ he came on board so pleased And said: “_Maldito_ Yankee—again your ship is seized. How many sailors have you got?” Said Folger, “Ten—no more,” To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

“But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine, I do suppose as usual, I’ll have to pay a fine; I have got some old Madeira and we’ll talk the matter o’er— My Capitan Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”

And as over that Madeira the Captain General boozed, It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused, For it happened that some morphine had travelled from “the store” To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.