The Merchantmen
King Solomon drew merchantmen,Because of his desireFor peacocks, apes, and ivory,From Tarshish unto Tyre:With cedars out of LebanonWhich Hiram rafted down,But we be only sailormenThat use in London town.
We bring no store of ingots,Of spice or precious stones,But that we have we gatheredWith sweat and aching bones:In flame beneath the tropics,In frost upon the floe,And jeopardy of every windThat does between them go.
And some we got by purchase,And some we had by trade,And some we found by courtesyOf pike and carronade,At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings,For charity to keep,And light the rolling homeward-boundThat rode a foot too deep.
By sport of bitter weatherWe're walty, strained, and scarredFrom the kentledge on the kelsonTo the slings upon the yard.Six oceans had their will of usTo carry all away—Our galley 's in the Baltic,And our boom 's in Mossel Bay!
We've floundered off the Texel,Awash with sodden deals,We've slipped from ValparaisoWith the Norther at our heels:We've ratched beyond the CrossetsThat tusk the Southern Pole,And dipped our gunnels underTo the dread Agulhas roll.
Beyond all outer chartingWe sailed where none have sailed,And saw the land-lights burningOn islands none have hailed;Our hair stood up for wonder,But, when the night was done,There danced the deep to windwardBlue-empty 'neath the sun!
Strange consorts rode beside usAnd brought us evil luck;The witch-fire climbed our channels,And danced on vane and truck:Till, through the red tornado,That lashed us nigh to blind,We saw The Dutchman plunging,Full canvas, head to wind!
We've heard the Midnight LeadsmanThat calls the black deep down—Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer,The Thing that may not drown.On frozen bunt and gasketThe sleet-cloud drave her hosts,When, manned by more than signed with us,We passed the Isle o' Ghosts!
And north, amid the hummocks,A biscuit-toss below,We met the silent shallopThat frighted whalers know;For, down a cruel ice-lane,That opened as he sped,We saw dead Henry HudsonSteer, North by West, his dead.
So dealt God's waters with usBeneath the roaring skies,So walked His signs and marvelsAll naked to our eyes:But we were heading homewardWith trade to lose or make—Good Lord, they slipped behind usIn the tailing of our wake!
Let go, let go the anchors;Now shamed at heart are weTo bring so poor a cargo homeThat had for gift the sea!Let go the great bow-anchors—Ah, fools were we and blind—The worst we baled with utter toil,The best we left behind!
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