1592 "A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA" A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves O for a soft and gentle wind! But give to me the snoring breeze There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The lightning flashes free While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. Allan Cunningham [1784-1842] THE SEA THE Sea! the sea! the open sea! It runneth the earth's wide regions round; Or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be; Sailor's Song With the blue above, and the blue below, If a storm should come and awake the deep, I love, O, how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, I never was on the dull, tame shore, The waves were white, and red the morn, And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, I've lived since then, in calm and strife, Full fifty summers, a sailor's life, With wealth to spend and a power to range, But never have sought nor sighed for change; Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea! 1593 Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874] SAILOR'S SONG From "Death's Jest-Book To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er; And rattles down the pebbly shore; The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, And unseen mermaids' pearly song To sea, to sea! our wide-winged bark The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, Thomas Lovell Beddoes [1803-1849] "A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE" A LIFE on the ocean wave, On this dull, unchanging shore: Once more on the deck I stand Of my own swift-gliding craft: Set sail! farewell to the land! We shoot through the sparkling foam The land is no longer in view, The clouds have begun to frown; But with a stout vessel and crew, We'll say, Let the storm come down! Tacking Ship off Shore And the song of our hearts shall be, A home on the rolling sea!. A life on the ocean wave! 1595 Epes Sargent [1813-1880] TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE THE weather-leech of the topsail shivers, The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken, The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers, And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken. Open one point on the weather-bow, Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island Head. I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye The ship bends lower before the breeze, As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; It is silence all, as each in his place, With the gathered coil in his hardened hands, And the light on Fire Island Head draws near, No time to spare! It is touch and go; 1 And the captain growls, "Down helm! hard down!" As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw, While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud's frown. High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray, With the swerving leap of a startled steed The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, And the headland white we have left behind. The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse, And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew, The sails are aback from clew to clew, And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy, She holds her way, and I look with joy For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung. "Let go, and haul!" "Tis the last command, And the head-sails fill to the blast once more: Astern and to leeward lies the land, With its breakers white on the shingly shore. What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall? The first mate clamors, "Belay, there, all!" And so off shore let the good ship fly; In my fo'castle bunk, in a jacket dry. Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below. Walter Mitchell [1826-1908] |