“Dose engine one leetl’ bit cranky—too ole, you see—
She roll and peetch in de wave’. But I lak’ ’er pretty well;
An’ dat sheep she lak’ ’er captaine, sure, dat’s me!
Wit’ forty ton coal in de bunker, I tek’ dat sheep t’rou’ hell.
“But I don’ wan’ risk it no more; I had bonne chance:
I save already ten t’ousan’ dollar’, dat’s plenty I s’pose!
Nex’ winter I buy dat house wid de garden on France
An’ I tell adieu to de sea, and I leev’ on de lan’ in ripose.”
All summer he talked of his house—you could see the flowers
Abloom, and the pear-trees trained on the garden-wall so trim,
And the Captain awalkin’ and smokin’ away the hours—
He thought he had done with the sea, but the sea hadn’t done with him!
It was late in the fall when he made the last regular run,
Clear down to the Esquimault Point and back with his rickety ship;
She hammered and pounded a lot, for the storms had begun;
But he drove her—and went for his season’s pay at the end of the trip.
Now the Holloway Brothers are greedy and thin little men,
With their eyes set close together, and money’s their only God;
So they told the Cap’ he must run the “Bridget” again,
To fetch a cargo from Moisie, two thousand quintals of cod.
He said the season was over. They said: “Not yet.
You finish the whole of your job, old man, or you don’t draw a cent!”
(They had the “Bridget” insured for all they could get.)
And the Captain objected, and cursed, and cried. But he went.
They took on the cargo at Moisie, and folks beside—
Three traders, a priest, and a couple of nuns, and a girl
For a school at Quebec—when the Captain saw her he sighed,
And said: “Ma littl’ Fifi got hair lak’ dat, all curl!”
The snow had fallen a foot, and the wind was high,
When the Bridget butted her way thro’ the billows on Moisie bar.
The darkness grew with the gale, not a star in the sky,
And the Captain swore: “We mus’ make Sept Isles to-night, by gar!”
He couldn’t go back, for he didn’t dare to turn;
The sea would have thrown the ship like a mustang noosed with a rope;
For the monstrous waves were leapin’ high astern,
And the shelter of Seven Island Bay was the only hope.
There’s a bunch of broken hills half sunk in the mouth
Of the bay, with their jagged peaks afoam; and the Captain thought
He could pass to the north; but the sea kept shovin’ him south,
With her harlot hands, in the snow-blind murk, till she had him caught.
She had waited forty years for a night like this—
Did he think he could leave her now, and live in a cottage, the fool?
She headed him straight for the island he couldn’t miss;
And heaved his boat in the dark—and smashed it against Gran’ Boule.
How the Captain and half of the people clambered ashore,
Through the surf and the snow in the gloom of that horrible night,
There’s no one ever will know. For two days more
The death-white shroud of the tempest covered the island from sight.
How they suffered, and struggled, and died, will never be told;
We discovered them all at last when we reached Gran’ Boule with a boat;
The drowned and the frozen were lyin’ stiff and cold,
And the poor little girl with the curls was wrapped in the Captain’s coat.
Go write your song of the sea as the landsmen do,
And call her your “great sweet mother,” your “bride,” and all the rest;
She was made to be loved—but remember, she won’t love you—
The men who trust her the least are the sailors who know her the best.
Honour the brave who sleep
Where the lost Titanic lies,
The men who knew what a man must do
When he looks Death in the eyes.
“Women and children first,”—
Ah, strong and tender cry!
The sons whom women had borne and nursed,
Remembered—and dared to die.
The boats crept off in the dark:
The great ship groaned: and then—
O stars of the night, who saw that sight,
Bear witness, These were men!
I
“How can I tell,” Sir Edmund said,
“Who has the right or the wrong o’ this thing?
Cromwell stands for the people’s cause,
Charles is crowned by the ancient laws;
English meadows are sopping red,
Englishmen striking each other dead—
Times are black as a raven’s wing.
Out of the ruck and the murk I see
Only one thing!
The King has trusted his banner to me,
And I must fight for the King.”
II
Into the thick of the Edgehill fight
Sir Edmund rode with a shout; and the ring
Of grim-faced, hard-hitting Parliament men
Swallowed him up—it was one against ten!
He fought for the standard with all his might,
Never again did he come to sight—
Victor, hid by the raven’s wing!
After the battle had passed we found
Only one thing—
The hand of Sir Edmund gripped around
The banner-staff of his King.
O Lord our God, Thy mighty hand
Hath made our country free;
From all her broad and happy land
May praise arise to Thee.
Fulfill the promise of her youth,
Her liberty defend;
By law and order, love and truth,
America befriend!
The strength of every State increase
In Union’s golden chain;
Her thousand cities fill with peace,
Her million fields with grain.
The virtues of her mingled blood
In one new people blend;
By unity and brotherhood,
America befriend!
O suffer not her feet to stray;
But guide her untaught might,
That she may walk in peaceful day,
And lead the world in light.
Bring down the proud, lift up the poor,
Unequal ways amend;
By justice, nation-wide and sure,
America befriend!
Thro’ all the waiting land proclaim
Thy gospel of good-will;
And may the music of Thy name
In every bosom thrill.
O’er hill and vale, from sea to sea.
Thy holy reign extend;
By faith and hope and charity,
America befriend!
The day returns by which we date our years:
Day of the joy
