For, down a cruel ice-lane,
That opened as he sped,
We saw dead Hendrick Hudson
Steer, North by West, his dead.

So dealt God's waters with us
Beneath the roaring skies,
So walked His signs and marvels
All naked to our eyes:
But we were heading homeward
With trade to lose or make-
Good Lord, they slipped behind us
In the tailing of our wake!

Let go, let go the anchors;
Now shamed at heart are we
To bring so poor a cargo home
That had for gift the sea!
Let go the great bow-anchor-

Ah, fools were we and blind-
The worst we stored with utter toil,
The best we left behind!

Coastwise-cross-seas-round the world and back again,
Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down:
Plain-sail-storm-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

The cargoes of my lading,

And the keels of my command.

For out of many ventures

That sailed with hope as high, My own have made the better trade, And Admiral am I.

To me my King's much honour,
To me my people's love-
To me the pride of Princes
And power all pride above;
To me the shouting cities,

To me the mob's refrain:—
"Who knows not noble Valdez,
"Hath never heard of Spain."

But I remember comrades-
Old playmates on new seas―
Whenas we traded orpiment
Among the savages-

A thousand leagues to south'ard
And thirty years removed-
They knew not noble Valdez,
But me they knew and loved.

Then they that found good liquor,
They drank it not alone,
And they that found fair plunder,

They told us every one,
About our chosen islands

Or secret shoals between, When, weary from far voyage, We gathered to careen.

There burned our breaming-fagots

All pale along the shore: There rose our worn pavilions— A sail above an oar:

As flashed each yearning anchor
Through mellow seas afire,
So swift our careless captains
Rowed each to his desire.

Where lay our loosened harness? Where turned our naked feet? Whose tavern 'mid the palm-trees? What quenchings of what heat? Oh fountain in the desert!

Oh cistern in the waste!

Oh bread we ate in secret!
Oh cup we spilled in haste!

The youth new-taught of longing,
The widow curbed and wan,
The goodwife proud at season,
And the maid aware of man-
All souls unslaked, consuming
Defrauded in delays,

Desire not more their quittance
Than I those forfeit days!

I dreamed to wait my pleasure
Unchanged my spring would bide:
Wherefore, to wait my pleasure,
I put my spring aside

Till, first in face of Fortune,

And last in mazed disdain,

I made Diego Valdez

High Admiral of Spain.

Then walked no wind 'neath Heaven

Nor surge that did not aid—

I dared extreme occasion,

Nor ever one betrayed.

They wrought a deeper treason-
(Led seas that served my needs!)
They sold Diego Valdez

To bondage of great deeds.

The tempest flung me seaward,
And pinned and bade me hold
The course I might not alter-
And men esteemed me bold!
The calms embayed my quarry,
The fog-wreath sealed his eyes;
The dawn-wind brought my topsails-
And men esteemed me wise!

Yet 'spite my tyrant triumphs
Bewildered, dispossessed-
My dream held I before me-
My vision of my rest;

But, crowned by Fleet and People,
And bound by King and Pope-
Stands here Diego Valdez

To rob me of my hope.

No prayer of mine shall move him,
No word of his set free

The Lord of Sixty Pennants
And the Steward of the Sea.
His will can loose ten thousand
To seek their loves again—

But not Diego Valdez,

High Admiral of Spain.

There walks no wind 'neath Heaven
Nor wave that shall restore

The old careening riot

And the clamorous, crowded shore

The fountain in the desert,

The cistern in the waste,
The bread we ate in secret,
The cup we spilled in haste.

Now call I to my Captains-
For council fly the sign,
Now leap their zealous galleys,
Twelve-oared, across the brine.

To me the straiter prison,

To me the heavier chain

To me Diego Valdez,

High Admiral of Spain!

THE SECOND VOYAGE

1903

WE'VE sent our little Cupids all ashore—

They were frightened, they were tired, they were cold:

Our sails of silk and purple go to store,

And we've cut away our mast of beaten gold

(Foul weather!)

Oh 'tis hemp and singing pine for to stand against the brine, But Love he is our master as of old!

The sea has shorn our galleries away,

The salt has soiled our gilding past remede;
Our paint is flaked and blistered by the spray,
Our sides are half a fathom furred in weed
(Foul weather!)

And the Doves of Venus fled and the petrels came instead,
But Love he was our master at our need!