GREEN SEAS AND SAILOR MEN

Ye Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe; And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow! While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave; For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow! While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o’er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow! When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger’s troubled night depart And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow! When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sendal[34], Such as gleam in ancient lore; And the singing of the sailors, And the answer from the shore! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Haunts me oft, and tarries long, Of the noble Count Arnaldos And the sailor’s mystic song. Telling how the Count Arnaldos, With his hawk upon his hand, Saw a fair and stately galley, Steering onward to the land;— How he heard the ancient helmsman Chant a song so wild and clear, That the sailing sea-bird slowly Poised upon the mast to hear, Till his soul was full of longing, And he cried, with impulse strong,— “Helmsman! for the love of heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song!” “Wouldst thou,”—so the helmsman answered, “Learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery!” In each sail that skims the horizon, In each landward-blowing breeze, I behold that stately galley, Hear those mournful melodies. Till my soul is full of longing For the secret of the sea, And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

Simon Danz has come home again, From cruising about with his buccaneers[35]; He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, And carried away the Dean of Jaen, And sold him in Algiers. In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles, And weathercocks flying aloft in air, There are silver tankards in antique styles, Plunder of convent and castle, and piles Of carpets rich and rare. In his tulip-garden there by the town, Overlooking the sluggish stream, With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown, The old sea-captain, hale and brown, Walks in a waking dream. A smile in his gray mustachio lurks Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, And the listed[36] tulips look like Turks, And the silent gardener as he works Is changed to the Dean of Jaen[37]. The windmills on the outermost Verge of the landscape in the haze, To him are towers on the Spanish coast, With whiskered sentinels at their post, Though this is the river Maese. But when the winter rains begin, He sits and smokes by the blazing brands, And old seafaring men come in, Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin, And rings upon their hands. They sit there in the shadow and shine Of the flickering fire of the winter night; Figures in colour and design Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine, Half darkness and half light. And they talk of ventures lost or won, And their talk is ever and ever the same, While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, From the cellars of some Spanish Don, Or convent set on flame. Restless at times, with heavy strides He paces his parlour to and fro; He is like a ship that at anchor rides, And swings with the rising and falling tides, And tugs at her anchor-tow. Voices mysterious far and near, Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, Are calling and whispering in his ear, “Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here? Come forth and follow me!” So he thinks he shall take to the sea again For one more cruise with his buccaneers, To singe the beard of the King of Spain, And capture another Dean of Jaen, And sell him in Algiers.

Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, And catch, in sudden gleams, The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And islands that were the Hesperides[38] Of all my boyish dreams. And the burden of that old song, It murmurs and whispers still: “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free; And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I am fever’d with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay. There’s a schooner in the offing, With her topsails shot with fire, And my heart has gone aboard her For the Islands of Desire. I must forth again to-morrow! With the sunset I must be Hull down on the trail of rapture In the wonder of the Sea.

’Twas in the good ship Rover, I sailed the world all round, And for three years and over I ne’er touched British ground; At length in England landed, I left the roaring main, Found all relations stranded, And went to sea again, And went to sea again. That time bound straight for Portugal, Right fore and aft we bore, But when we made Cape Ortegal, A gale blew off the shore; She lay, so did it shock her, A log upon the main, Till, saved from Davy’s locker, We put to sea again, We put to sea again. Next sailing in a frigate I got my timber toe. I never more shall jig it As once I used to do; My leg was shot off fairly, All by a ship of Spain; But I could swab the galley, I went to sea again, I went to sea again. And still I am enabled To bring up in the rear, Although I’m quite disabled And lie in Greenwich tier. There’s schooners in the river A riding to the chain, But I shall never, ever Put out to sea again, Put out to sea again.

Here’s the tender[39] coming, Pressing all the men; O, dear honey, What shall we do then? Here’s the tender coming, Off at Shields Bar. Here’s the tender coming, Full of men of war. Here’s the tender coming, Stealing of my dear; O, dear honey, They’ll ship you out of here, They’ll ship you foreign, For that is what it means. Here’s the tender coming, Full of red marines.

Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them, Ding, dong, bell.

Oh England is a pleasant place for them that’s rich and high, But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main. There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about; And a thousand men in Avès made laws so fair and free To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men, and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone. O the palms grew high in Avès, and fruits that shone like gold, And the colibris[40] and parrots they were gorgeous to behold; And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee, To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea. O sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze, A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees, With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore. But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be; So the King’s ships sailed on Avès, and quite put down were we. All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua[41], sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died; But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die. And now I’m old and going—I’m sure I can’t tell where; One comfort is, this world’s so hard, I can’t be worse off there: If I might but be a sea-dove, I’d fly across the main, To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.

A lofty ship from Salcombe came, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; She had golden trucks[42] that shone like flame, On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “Masthead, masthead,” the captains hail, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “Look out and round, d’ye see a sail?” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “There’s a ship that looms like Beachy Head,” Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “Her banner aloft it blows out red,” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “Oh, ship ahoy, where do you steer?” Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “Are you man-of-war, or privateer?” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “I am neither one of the two,” said she, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “I’m a pirate, looking for my fee,” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “I’m a jolly pirate, out for gold:” Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “I will rummage through your after hold,” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. The grumbling guns they flashed and roared, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; Till the pirate’s masts went overboard, On the bonny coasts of Barbary. They fired shots till the pirate’s deck, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; Was blood and spars and broken wreck, On the bonny coasts of Barbary. “O do not haul the red flag down,” Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; “O keep all fast until we drown,” On the bonny coasts of Barbary. They called for cans of wine, and drank, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; They sang their songs until she sank, On the bonny coasts of Barbary. Now let us brew good cans of flip, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; And drink a bowl to the Salcombe ship, On the bonny coasts of Barbary. And drink a bowl to the lad of fame, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; Who put the pirate ship to shame, On the bonny coasts of Barbary.

O my true love’s a smuggler and sails upon the sea, And I would I were a seaman to go along with he; To go along with he for the satins and the wine, And run the tubs at Slapton when the stars do shine. O Hollands is a good drink when the nights are cold, And Brandy is a good drink for them as grows old. There is lights in the cliff-top when the boats are home-bound, And we run the tubs at Slapton when the word goes round. The King he is a proud man in his grand red coat, But I do love a smuggler in a little fishing-boat; For he runs the Mallins lace and he spends his money free, And I would I were a seaman to go along with he.