Blind in the hot blue ring Through all my points I swing Swing and return to shift the sun anew. I hear the stars go by, Mocking the prow that cannot hold one true! White on my wasted path Wave after wave in wrath Frets 'gainst his fellow, warring where to send me. Flung forward, heaved aside, The Witless and dazed I bide mercy of the comber that shall end me. North where the bergs careen, The spray of seas unseen Smokes round my head and freezes in the falling; South where the corals breed, The footless, floating weed Folds me and fouls me, strake on strake upcrawling. I that was clean to run My race against the sun Strength on the deep-am bawd to all disaster; My sister's careless feet, And with a kiss betray her to my master! Man made me, and my will Is to my maker still To him and his, our peoples at their pier: Trailed smoke along the sky, Falling afraid lest any keel come near! Coastwise THE MERCHANTMEN KING 1893 ING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, For peacocks, apes, and ivory, That use in London town. cross-seas round the world and back again Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits Plain-sail-storm-sail- lay your board and tack again — And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots! We bring no store of ingots, And some we got by purchase, And light the rolling homeward-bound By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred From the kentledge on the kelson To the slings upon the yard. Six oceans had their will of us To carry all away · Our galley's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, Strange consorts rode beside us Till, through the red tornado, We saw The Dutchman plunging, We've heard the Midnight Leadsman That calls the black deep down — Coastwise Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer, The sleet-cloud drave her hosts, When, manned by more than signed with us round the world and back again, Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: Plain-sailstorm-sail-lay your board and tack again And all to bring a cargo up to London Town! THE SONG OF DIEGO VALDEZ 1902 THE God of Fair Beginnings Hath prospered here my hand And the keels of my command. For out of many ventures That sailed with hope as high, My own have made the better trade, To me my King's much honour, To me the mob's refrain: But I remember comrades A thousand leagues to south'ard Then they that found good liquor, And they that found fair plunder, |