Wide-eyed our childhood roamed the worldKnee-deep in blowing grass,And watched the white clouds crisply curledAbove the mountain-pass,And lay among the purple thymeAnd from its fragrance caughtStrange hints from some elusive climeBeyond the bounds of thought.Glimpses of fair forgotten thingsBeyond the gates of birth,Half-caught from far off ancient springsIn heaven, and half of earth;And coloured like a fairy-taleAnd whispering evermoreHalf memories from the half-fenced paleOf lives we lived before.Here, weary of the roaring townA-while may I returnAnd while the west wind roams the downLie still, lie still and learn:Here are green leagues of murmuring wheatWith blue skies overhead,And, all around, the winds are sweetWith May-bloom, white and red.And, to and fro, the bee still humsHis low unchanging song,And the same rustling whisper comesAs through the ages long:Through all the thousands of the yearsThat same sweet rumour flows,With dreaming skies and gleaming tearsAnd kisses and the rose.Once more the children throng the lanes,Themselves like flowers, to weaveTheir garlands and their daisy-chainsAnd listen and believeThe tale ofOnce-upon-a-time,And hear theLong-agoAndHappy-ever-afterchimeBecause it must be so.And by those thousands of the yearsIt is, though scarce we see,Dazed with the rainbows of our tears,Their steadfast unity,It is, or life's disjointed schemes,These stones, these ferns unfurledWith such deep care—a madman's dreamsWere wisdom to this world!Dust into dust! Lie still and learn,Hear how the ages singThe solemn joy of our returnTo that which makes the Spring:Even as we came, with childhood's trust,Wide-eyed we go, to TheeWho holdest In Thy sacred dustThe heavenly Springs to be.
Wide-eyed our childhood roamed the worldKnee-deep in blowing grass,And watched the white clouds crisply curledAbove the mountain-pass,And lay among the purple thymeAnd from its fragrance caughtStrange hints from some elusive climeBeyond the bounds of thought.
Glimpses of fair forgotten thingsBeyond the gates of birth,Half-caught from far off ancient springsIn heaven, and half of earth;And coloured like a fairy-taleAnd whispering evermoreHalf memories from the half-fenced paleOf lives we lived before.
Here, weary of the roaring townA-while may I returnAnd while the west wind roams the downLie still, lie still and learn:Here are green leagues of murmuring wheatWith blue skies overhead,And, all around, the winds are sweetWith May-bloom, white and red.
And, to and fro, the bee still humsHis low unchanging song,And the same rustling whisper comesAs through the ages long:Through all the thousands of the yearsThat same sweet rumour flows,With dreaming skies and gleaming tearsAnd kisses and the rose.
Once more the children throng the lanes,Themselves like flowers, to weaveTheir garlands and their daisy-chainsAnd listen and believeThe tale ofOnce-upon-a-time,And hear theLong-agoAndHappy-ever-afterchimeBecause it must be so.
And by those thousands of the yearsIt is, though scarce we see,Dazed with the rainbows of our tears,Their steadfast unity,It is, or life's disjointed schemes,These stones, these ferns unfurledWith such deep care—a madman's dreamsWere wisdom to this world!
Dust into dust! Lie still and learn,Hear how the ages singThe solemn joy of our returnTo that which makes the Spring:Even as we came, with childhood's trust,Wide-eyed we go, to TheeWho holdest In Thy sacred dustThe heavenly Springs to be.
What is the loveliest light that SpringRosily parting her robe of greyGirdled with leaflet green, can flingOver the fields where her white feet stray?What is the merriest promise of MayFlung o'er the dew-drenched April flowers?Tell me, you on the pear-tree spray—Carol of birds between the showers.What can life at its lightest bringBetter than this on its brightest day?How should we fetter the white-throat's wingWild with joy of its woodland way?Sweet, should love for an hour delay,Swift, while the primrose-time is ours!What is the lover's royallest lay?—Carol of birds between the showers.What is the murmur of bees a-swing?What is the laugh of a child at play?What is the song that the angels sing?(Where were the tune could the sweet notes stayLonger than this, to kiss and betray?)Nay, on the blue sky's topmost towers,What is the song of the seraphim? Say—Carol of birds between the showers.Thread the stars on a silver string,(So did they sing in Bethlehem's bowers!)Mirth for a little one, grief for a king,Carol of birds between the showers.
What is the loveliest light that SpringRosily parting her robe of greyGirdled with leaflet green, can flingOver the fields where her white feet stray?What is the merriest promise of MayFlung o'er the dew-drenched April flowers?Tell me, you on the pear-tree spray—Carol of birds between the showers.
What can life at its lightest bringBetter than this on its brightest day?How should we fetter the white-throat's wingWild with joy of its woodland way?Sweet, should love for an hour delay,Swift, while the primrose-time is ours!What is the lover's royallest lay?—Carol of birds between the showers.
What is the murmur of bees a-swing?What is the laugh of a child at play?What is the song that the angels sing?(Where were the tune could the sweet notes stayLonger than this, to kiss and betray?)Nay, on the blue sky's topmost towers,What is the song of the seraphim? Say—Carol of birds between the showers.
Thread the stars on a silver string,(So did they sing in Bethlehem's bowers!)Mirth for a little one, grief for a king,Carol of birds between the showers.
Come, choose your road and away, my lad,Come, choose your road and away!We'll out of the town by the road's bright crownAs it dips to the dazzling day.It's a long white road for the weary;But it rolls through the heart of the May.Though many a road would merrily ringTo the tramp of your marching feet,All roads are one from the day that's done,And the miles are swift and sweet,And the graves of your friends are the mile-stonesTo the land where all roads meet.But the call that you hear this day, my lad,Is the Spring's old bugle of mirthWhen the year's green fire in a soul's desireIs brought like a rose to the birth;And knights ride out to adventureAs the flowers break out of the earth.Over the sweet-smelling mountain-passesThe clouds lie brightly curled;The wild-flowers cling to the crags and swingWith cataract-dews impearled;And the way, the way that you choose this dayIs the way to the end of the world.It rolls from the golden long agoTo the land that we ne'er shall find;And it's uphill here, but it's downhill there,For the road is wise and kind,And all rough places and cheerless facesWill soon be left behind.Come, choose your road and away, away,We'll follow the gipsy sun,For it's soon, too soon to the end of the day,And the day is well begun;And the road rolls on through the heart of the May,And there's never a May but one.There's a fir-wood here, and a dog-rose there,And a note of the mating dove;And a glimpse, maybe, of the warm blue sea,And the warm white clouds above;And warm to your breast in a tenderer nestYour sweetheart's little glove.There's not much better to win, my lad,There's not much better to win!You have lived, you have loved, you have fought, you have provedThe worth of folly and sin;So now come out of the City's rout,Come out of the dust and the din.Come out,—a bundle and stick is allYou'll need to carry along,If your heart can carry a kindly word,And your lips can carry a song;You may leave the lave to the keep o' the grave,If your lips can carry a song!Come, choose your road and away, my lad,Come, choose your road and away!We'll out of the town by the road's bright crown,As it dips to the sapphire day!All roads may meet at the world's end,But, hey for the heart of the May!Come, choose your road and away, dear lad,Come choose your road and away.
Come, choose your road and away, my lad,Come, choose your road and away!We'll out of the town by the road's bright crownAs it dips to the dazzling day.It's a long white road for the weary;But it rolls through the heart of the May.
Though many a road would merrily ringTo the tramp of your marching feet,All roads are one from the day that's done,And the miles are swift and sweet,And the graves of your friends are the mile-stonesTo the land where all roads meet.
But the call that you hear this day, my lad,Is the Spring's old bugle of mirthWhen the year's green fire in a soul's desireIs brought like a rose to the birth;And knights ride out to adventureAs the flowers break out of the earth.
Over the sweet-smelling mountain-passesThe clouds lie brightly curled;The wild-flowers cling to the crags and swingWith cataract-dews impearled;And the way, the way that you choose this dayIs the way to the end of the world.
It rolls from the golden long agoTo the land that we ne'er shall find;And it's uphill here, but it's downhill there,For the road is wise and kind,And all rough places and cheerless facesWill soon be left behind.
Come, choose your road and away, away,We'll follow the gipsy sun,For it's soon, too soon to the end of the day,And the day is well begun;And the road rolls on through the heart of the May,And there's never a May but one.
There's a fir-wood here, and a dog-rose there,And a note of the mating dove;And a glimpse, maybe, of the warm blue sea,And the warm white clouds above;And warm to your breast in a tenderer nestYour sweetheart's little glove.
There's not much better to win, my lad,There's not much better to win!You have lived, you have loved, you have fought, you have provedThe worth of folly and sin;So now come out of the City's rout,Come out of the dust and the din.
Come out,—a bundle and stick is allYou'll need to carry along,If your heart can carry a kindly word,And your lips can carry a song;You may leave the lave to the keep o' the grave,If your lips can carry a song!
Come, choose your road and away, my lad,Come, choose your road and away!We'll out of the town by the road's bright crown,As it dips to the sapphire day!All roads may meet at the world's end,But, hey for the heart of the May!Come, choose your road and away, dear lad,Come choose your road and away.
IIn a leafy lane of DevonThere's a cottage that I know,Then a garden—then, a grey old crumbling wall,And the wall's the wall of heaven(Where I hardly care to go)And there isn't any fiery sword at all.IIBut I never went to heaven.There was right good reason why,For they sent a shining angel to me there,An angel, down in Devon,(Clad in muslin by the bye)With the halo of the sunshine on her hair.IIIAh, whate'er the darkness covers,And whate'er we sing or say,Would you climb the wall of heaven an hour too soonIf you knew a place for loversWhere the apple-blossoms strayOut of heaven to sway and whisper to the moon?IVWhen we die—we'll think of DevonWhere the garden's all aglowWith the flowers that stray across the grey old wall:Then we'll climb it, out of heaven,From the other side, you know,Straggle over it from heavenWith the apple-blossom snow,Tumble back again to DevonLaugh and love as long ago,Where there isn't any fiery sword at all.
I
In a leafy lane of DevonThere's a cottage that I know,Then a garden—then, a grey old crumbling wall,And the wall's the wall of heaven(Where I hardly care to go)And there isn't any fiery sword at all.
II
But I never went to heaven.There was right good reason why,For they sent a shining angel to me there,An angel, down in Devon,(Clad in muslin by the bye)With the halo of the sunshine on her hair.
III
Ah, whate'er the darkness covers,And whate'er we sing or say,Would you climb the wall of heaven an hour too soonIf you knew a place for loversWhere the apple-blossoms strayOut of heaven to sway and whisper to the moon?
IV
When we die—we'll think of DevonWhere the garden's all aglowWith the flowers that stray across the grey old wall:Then we'll climb it, out of heaven,From the other side, you know,Straggle over it from heavenWith the apple-blossom snow,Tumble back again to DevonLaugh and love as long ago,Where there isn't any fiery sword at all.
Half a hundred terrible pig-tails, pirates famous in song and story,Hoisting the old black flag once more, in a palmy harbour of Caribbee,"Farewell" we waved to our brown-skinned lasses, and chorussing out to the billows of glory,Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we followed the sunset over the sea.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!Sea-roads plated with pieces of eight that rolled to a heaven by rum made mellow,Heaved and coloured our barque's black nose where the Lascar sang to a twinkling star,And the tangled bow-sprit plunged and dipped its point in the west's wild red and yellow,Till the curved white moon crept out astern like a naked knife from a blue cymar.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred terrible piratesWhen the world was young!Half a hundred tarry pig-tails, Teach, the chewer of glass, had taught us,Taught us to balance the plank ye walk, your little plank-bridge to Kingdom Come:Half a score had sailed with Flint, and a dozen or so the devil had brought usBack from the pit where Blackbeard lay, in Beelzebub's bosom, a-screech for rum.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred piping piratesWhen the world was young!There was Captain Hook (of whom ye have heard—so called from his terrible cold steel twister,His own right hand having gone to a shark with a taste for skippers on pirate-trips),There was Silver himself, with his cruel crutch, and the blind man Pew, with a phiz like a blister,Gouged and white and dreadfully dried in the reek of a thousand burning ships.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred cut-throat piratesWhen the world was young!With our silver buckles and French cocked hats and our skirted coats (they were growing greener,But green and gold look well when spliced! We'd trimmed 'em up wi' some fine fresh lace)Bravely over the seas we danced to the horn-pipe tune of a concertina,Cutlasses jetting beneath our skirts and cambric handkerchiefs all in place.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred elegant piratesWhen the world was young!And our black prow grated, one golden noon, on the happiest isle of the Happy Islands,An isle of Paradise, fair as a gem, on the sparkling breast of the wine-dark deep,An isle of blossom and yellow sand, and enchanted vines on the purple highlands,Wi' grapes like melons, nay clustering suns, a-sprawl over cliffs in their noonday sleep.While earth goes round let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred dream-struck piratesWhen the world was young!And lo! on the soft warm edge of the sand, where the sea like wine in a golden nogginCreamed, and the rainbow-bubbles clung to his flame-red hair, a white youth lay,Sleeping; and now, as his drowsy grip relaxed, the cup that he squeezed his grog inSlipped from his hand and its purple dregs were mixed with the flames and flakes of spray.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred diffident piratesWhen the world was young!And we suddenly saw (had we seen them before? They were coloured like sand or the pelt on his shoulders)His head was pillowed on two great leopards, whose breathing rose and sank with his own;Now a pirate is bold, but the vision was rum and wouldcallfor rum in the best of beholders,And it seemed we had seen Him before, in a dream, with that flame-red hair and that vine-leaf crown.And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And softlier now we sung:Half a hundred awe-struck piratesWhen the world was young!Now Timothy Hook (of whom ye have heard, with his talon of steel) our doughty skipper,A man that, in youth being brought up pious, had many a book on his cabin-shelf,Suddenly caught at a comrade's hand with the tearing claws of his cold steel flipperAnd cried, "Great Thunder and Brimstone, boys, I've hit it at last!'Tis Bacchus himself."And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And never a word we sung:Half a hundred tottering piratesWhen the world was young!He flung his French cocked hat i' the foam (though its lace was the best of his wearing apparel):We stared at him—Bacchus! The sea reeled round like a wine-vat splashing with purple dreams,And the sunset-skies were dashed with blood of the grape as the sun like a new-staved barrelFlooded the tumbling West with wine and spattered the clouds with crimson gleams.And the earth went round, and our heads went round,And never a word we sung:Half a hundred staggering piratesWhen the world was young!Down to the ship for a fishing-net our crafty Hook sent Silver leaping;Back he came on his pounding crutch, for all the world like a kangaroo;And we caught the net and up to the Sleeper on hands and knees we all went creeping,Flung it across him and staked it down! 'Twas the best of our dreams and the dream was true.And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And loudly now we sung:Half a hundred jubilant piratesWhen the world was young!We had caught our god, and we got him aboard ere he woke (he was more than a little heavy);Glittering, beautiful, flushed he lay in the lurching bows of the old black barque,As the sunset died and the white moon dawned, and we saw on the island a star-bright bevyOf naked Bacchanals stealing to watch through the whispering vines in the purple dark!While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred innocent piratesWhen the world was young!Beautiful under the sailing moon, in the tangled net, with the leopards beside him,Snared like a wild young red-lipped merman, wilful, petulant, flushed he lay;While Silver and Hook in their big sea-boots and their boat-cloaks guarded and gleefully eyed him,Thinking what Bacchus might do for a seaman, like standing him drinks, as a man might say.While earth goes round, let rum go round,We sailed away and sung:Half a hundred fanciful piratesWhen the world was young!All the grog that ever was heard of, gods, was it stowed in our sure possession?O, the pictures that broached the skies and poured their colours across our dreams!O, the thoughts that tapped the sunset, and rolled like a great torchlight processionDown our throats in a glory of glories, a roaring splendour of golden streams!And the earth went round, and the stars went round,As we hauled the sheets and sung:Half a hundred infinite piratesWhen the world was young!Beautiful, white, at the break of day, He woke and, the net in a smoke dissolving,He rose like a flame, with his yellow-eyed pards and his flame-red hair like a windy dawn,And the crew kept back, respectful like, till the leopards advanced with their eyes revolving,Then up the rigging went Silver and Hook, and the rest of us followed with case-knives drawn.While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our cross-tree song we sung:Half a hundred terrified piratesWhen the world was young!And "Take me home to my happy island!" he says. "Not I," sings Hook, "by thunder;We'll take you home to a happier isle, our palmy harbour of Caribbee!""You won't!" says Bacchus, and quick as a dream the planks of the deck just heaved asunder,And a mighty Vine came straggling up that grew from the depths of the wine-dark sea.And the sea went round, and the skies went round,As our cross-tree song we sung:Half a hundred horrified piratesWhen the world was young!We were anchored fast as an oak on land, and the branches clutched and the tendrils quickened,And bound us writhing like snakes to the spars! Ay, we hacked with our knives at the boughs in vain,And Bacchus laughed loud on the decks below, as ever the tough sprays tightened and thickened,And the blazing hours went by, and we gaped with thirst and our ribs were racked with painAnd the skies went round, and the sea swam round,And we knew not what we sung:Half a hundred lunatic piratesWhen the world was young!Bunch upon bunch of sunlike grapes, as we writhed and struggled and raved and strangled,Bunch upon bunch of gold and purple daubed its bloom on our baked black lips.Clustering grapes, O, bigger than pumpkins, just out of reach they bobbed and dangledOver the vine-entangled sails of that most dumbfounded of pirate ships!And the sun went round, and the moon came round,And mocked us where we hung:Half a hundred maniac piratesWhen the world was young!Over the waters the white moon winked its bruised old eye at our bowery prison,When suddenly we were aware of a light such as never a moon or a ship's lamp throws,And a shallop of pearl, like a Nautilus shell, came shimmering up as by magic arisen,With sails: of silk and a glory around it that turned the sea to a rippling rose.And our heads went round, and the stars went round,At the song that cruiser sung:Half a hundred goggle-eyed piratesWhen the world was young!Half a hundred rose-white Bacchanals hauled the ropes of that rosy cruiser!Over the seas they came and laid their little white hands on the old black barque;And Bacchus he ups and he steps aboard: "Hi, stop!" cries Hook, "you frantic old boozer!Belay, below there, don't you go and leave poor pirates to die in the dark!"And the moon went round, and the stars went round,As they all pushed off and sung:Half a hundred ribbonless BacchanalsWhen the world was young!Over the seas they went and Bacchus he stands, with his yellow-eyed leopards beside him,High on the poop of rose and pearl, and kisses his hand to us, pleasant as pie!While the Bacchanals danced to their tambourines, and the vine-leaves flew, and Hook just eyed himOnce, as a man that was brought up pious, and scornfully hollers, "Well, you ain't shy!"For all around him, vine-leaf crowned,The wild white Bacchanals flung!Nor it wasn't a sight for respectable piratesWhen the world was young!All around that rainbow-Nautilus rippled the bloom of a thousand roses,Nay, but the sparkle of fairy sea-nymphs breasting a fairy-like sea of wine,Swimming around it in murmuring thousands, with white arms tossing; till—all thatweknows isThe light went out, and the night was dark, and the grapes had burst and their juice was—brine!And the vines that bound our bodies roundWere plain wet ropes that clung,Squeezing the light out o' fifty piratesWhen the world was young!Over the seas in the pomp of dawn a king's ship came with her proud flag flying.Cloud upon cloud we watched her tower with her belts and her crowded zones of sail;And an A.B. perched in a white crow's nest, with a brass-rimmed spy-glass quietly spying,As we swallowed the lumps in our choking throats and uttered our last faint feeble hail!And our heads went round as the ship went round,And we thought how coves had swung:All for playing at broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!Half a hundred trembling corsairs, all cut loose, but a trifle giddy,We lands on their trim white decks at last and the bo'sun he whistles us good hot grog,And we tries to confess, but there wasn't a soul from the Admiral's self to the gold-laced middyBut says, "They're delirious still, poor chaps," and the Cap'n he enters the fact in his log,That his boat's crew found us nearly drownedIn a barrel without a bung—Half a hundred suffering sea-cooksWhen the world was young!So we sailed by Execution Dock, where the swinging pirates haughty and scornfulRattled their chains, and on Margate beach we came like a school-treat safe to land;And one of us took to religion at once; and the rest of the crew, tho' their hearts were mournful,Capered about as Christy Minstrels, while Hook conducted the big brass band.And the sun went round, and the moon went round,And, O, 'twas a thought that stung!There was none to believe we were broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!Ah, yet (if ye stand me a noggin of rum) shall the old Blue Dolphin echo the story!We'll hoist the white cross-bones again in our palmy harbour of Caribbee!We'll wave farewell to our brown-skinned lasses and, chorussing out to the billows of glory,Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we'll follow the sunset over the sea!While earth goes round, let rum go round!O, sing it as we sung!Half a hundred terrible piratesWhen the world was young!
Half a hundred terrible pig-tails, pirates famous in song and story,Hoisting the old black flag once more, in a palmy harbour of Caribbee,"Farewell" we waved to our brown-skinned lasses, and chorussing out to the billows of glory,Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we followed the sunset over the sea.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!
Sea-roads plated with pieces of eight that rolled to a heaven by rum made mellow,Heaved and coloured our barque's black nose where the Lascar sang to a twinkling star,And the tangled bow-sprit plunged and dipped its point in the west's wild red and yellow,Till the curved white moon crept out astern like a naked knife from a blue cymar.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred terrible piratesWhen the world was young!
Half a hundred tarry pig-tails, Teach, the chewer of glass, had taught us,Taught us to balance the plank ye walk, your little plank-bridge to Kingdom Come:Half a score had sailed with Flint, and a dozen or so the devil had brought usBack from the pit where Blackbeard lay, in Beelzebub's bosom, a-screech for rum.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred piping piratesWhen the world was young!
There was Captain Hook (of whom ye have heard—so called from his terrible cold steel twister,His own right hand having gone to a shark with a taste for skippers on pirate-trips),There was Silver himself, with his cruel crutch, and the blind man Pew, with a phiz like a blister,Gouged and white and dreadfully dried in the reek of a thousand burning ships.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred cut-throat piratesWhen the world was young!
With our silver buckles and French cocked hats and our skirted coats (they were growing greener,But green and gold look well when spliced! We'd trimmed 'em up wi' some fine fresh lace)Bravely over the seas we danced to the horn-pipe tune of a concertina,Cutlasses jetting beneath our skirts and cambric handkerchiefs all in place.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred elegant piratesWhen the world was young!
And our black prow grated, one golden noon, on the happiest isle of the Happy Islands,An isle of Paradise, fair as a gem, on the sparkling breast of the wine-dark deep,An isle of blossom and yellow sand, and enchanted vines on the purple highlands,Wi' grapes like melons, nay clustering suns, a-sprawl over cliffs in their noonday sleep.
While earth goes round let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred dream-struck piratesWhen the world was young!
And lo! on the soft warm edge of the sand, where the sea like wine in a golden nogginCreamed, and the rainbow-bubbles clung to his flame-red hair, a white youth lay,Sleeping; and now, as his drowsy grip relaxed, the cup that he squeezed his grog inSlipped from his hand and its purple dregs were mixed with the flames and flakes of spray.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred diffident piratesWhen the world was young!
And we suddenly saw (had we seen them before? They were coloured like sand or the pelt on his shoulders)His head was pillowed on two great leopards, whose breathing rose and sank with his own;Now a pirate is bold, but the vision was rum and wouldcallfor rum in the best of beholders,And it seemed we had seen Him before, in a dream, with that flame-red hair and that vine-leaf crown.
And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And softlier now we sung:Half a hundred awe-struck piratesWhen the world was young!
Now Timothy Hook (of whom ye have heard, with his talon of steel) our doughty skipper,A man that, in youth being brought up pious, had many a book on his cabin-shelf,Suddenly caught at a comrade's hand with the tearing claws of his cold steel flipperAnd cried, "Great Thunder and Brimstone, boys, I've hit it at last!'Tis Bacchus himself."
And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And never a word we sung:Half a hundred tottering piratesWhen the world was young!
He flung his French cocked hat i' the foam (though its lace was the best of his wearing apparel):We stared at him—Bacchus! The sea reeled round like a wine-vat splashing with purple dreams,And the sunset-skies were dashed with blood of the grape as the sun like a new-staved barrelFlooded the tumbling West with wine and spattered the clouds with crimson gleams.
And the earth went round, and our heads went round,And never a word we sung:Half a hundred staggering piratesWhen the world was young!
Down to the ship for a fishing-net our crafty Hook sent Silver leaping;Back he came on his pounding crutch, for all the world like a kangaroo;And we caught the net and up to the Sleeper on hands and knees we all went creeping,Flung it across him and staked it down! 'Twas the best of our dreams and the dream was true.
And the earth went round, and the rum went round,And loudly now we sung:Half a hundred jubilant piratesWhen the world was young!
We had caught our god, and we got him aboard ere he woke (he was more than a little heavy);Glittering, beautiful, flushed he lay in the lurching bows of the old black barque,As the sunset died and the white moon dawned, and we saw on the island a star-bright bevyOf naked Bacchanals stealing to watch through the whispering vines in the purple dark!
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our capstan song we sung:Half a hundred innocent piratesWhen the world was young!
Beautiful under the sailing moon, in the tangled net, with the leopards beside him,Snared like a wild young red-lipped merman, wilful, petulant, flushed he lay;While Silver and Hook in their big sea-boots and their boat-cloaks guarded and gleefully eyed him,Thinking what Bacchus might do for a seaman, like standing him drinks, as a man might say.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,We sailed away and sung:Half a hundred fanciful piratesWhen the world was young!
All the grog that ever was heard of, gods, was it stowed in our sure possession?O, the pictures that broached the skies and poured their colours across our dreams!O, the thoughts that tapped the sunset, and rolled like a great torchlight processionDown our throats in a glory of glories, a roaring splendour of golden streams!
And the earth went round, and the stars went round,As we hauled the sheets and sung:Half a hundred infinite piratesWhen the world was young!
Beautiful, white, at the break of day, He woke and, the net in a smoke dissolving,He rose like a flame, with his yellow-eyed pards and his flame-red hair like a windy dawn,And the crew kept back, respectful like, till the leopards advanced with their eyes revolving,Then up the rigging went Silver and Hook, and the rest of us followed with case-knives drawn.
While earth goes round, let rum go round,Our cross-tree song we sung:Half a hundred terrified piratesWhen the world was young!
And "Take me home to my happy island!" he says. "Not I," sings Hook, "by thunder;We'll take you home to a happier isle, our palmy harbour of Caribbee!""You won't!" says Bacchus, and quick as a dream the planks of the deck just heaved asunder,And a mighty Vine came straggling up that grew from the depths of the wine-dark sea.
And the sea went round, and the skies went round,As our cross-tree song we sung:Half a hundred horrified piratesWhen the world was young!
We were anchored fast as an oak on land, and the branches clutched and the tendrils quickened,And bound us writhing like snakes to the spars! Ay, we hacked with our knives at the boughs in vain,And Bacchus laughed loud on the decks below, as ever the tough sprays tightened and thickened,And the blazing hours went by, and we gaped with thirst and our ribs were racked with pain
And the skies went round, and the sea swam round,And we knew not what we sung:Half a hundred lunatic piratesWhen the world was young!
Bunch upon bunch of sunlike grapes, as we writhed and struggled and raved and strangled,Bunch upon bunch of gold and purple daubed its bloom on our baked black lips.Clustering grapes, O, bigger than pumpkins, just out of reach they bobbed and dangledOver the vine-entangled sails of that most dumbfounded of pirate ships!
And the sun went round, and the moon came round,And mocked us where we hung:Half a hundred maniac piratesWhen the world was young!
Over the waters the white moon winked its bruised old eye at our bowery prison,When suddenly we were aware of a light such as never a moon or a ship's lamp throws,And a shallop of pearl, like a Nautilus shell, came shimmering up as by magic arisen,With sails: of silk and a glory around it that turned the sea to a rippling rose.
And our heads went round, and the stars went round,At the song that cruiser sung:Half a hundred goggle-eyed piratesWhen the world was young!
Half a hundred rose-white Bacchanals hauled the ropes of that rosy cruiser!Over the seas they came and laid their little white hands on the old black barque;And Bacchus he ups and he steps aboard: "Hi, stop!" cries Hook, "you frantic old boozer!Belay, below there, don't you go and leave poor pirates to die in the dark!"
And the moon went round, and the stars went round,As they all pushed off and sung:Half a hundred ribbonless BacchanalsWhen the world was young!
Over the seas they went and Bacchus he stands, with his yellow-eyed leopards beside him,High on the poop of rose and pearl, and kisses his hand to us, pleasant as pie!While the Bacchanals danced to their tambourines, and the vine-leaves flew, and Hook just eyed himOnce, as a man that was brought up pious, and scornfully hollers, "Well, you ain't shy!"
For all around him, vine-leaf crowned,The wild white Bacchanals flung!Nor it wasn't a sight for respectable piratesWhen the world was young!
All around that rainbow-Nautilus rippled the bloom of a thousand roses,Nay, but the sparkle of fairy sea-nymphs breasting a fairy-like sea of wine,Swimming around it in murmuring thousands, with white arms tossing; till—all thatweknows isThe light went out, and the night was dark, and the grapes had burst and their juice was—brine!
And the vines that bound our bodies roundWere plain wet ropes that clung,Squeezing the light out o' fifty piratesWhen the world was young!
Over the seas in the pomp of dawn a king's ship came with her proud flag flying.Cloud upon cloud we watched her tower with her belts and her crowded zones of sail;And an A.B. perched in a white crow's nest, with a brass-rimmed spy-glass quietly spying,As we swallowed the lumps in our choking throats and uttered our last faint feeble hail!
And our heads went round as the ship went round,And we thought how coves had swung:All for playing at broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!
Half a hundred trembling corsairs, all cut loose, but a trifle giddy,We lands on their trim white decks at last and the bo'sun he whistles us good hot grog,And we tries to confess, but there wasn't a soul from the Admiral's self to the gold-laced middyBut says, "They're delirious still, poor chaps," and the Cap'n he enters the fact in his log,
That his boat's crew found us nearly drownedIn a barrel without a bung—Half a hundred suffering sea-cooksWhen the world was young!
So we sailed by Execution Dock, where the swinging pirates haughty and scornfulRattled their chains, and on Margate beach we came like a school-treat safe to land;And one of us took to religion at once; and the rest of the crew, tho' their hearts were mournful,Capered about as Christy Minstrels, while Hook conducted the big brass band.
And the sun went round, and the moon went round,And, O, 'twas a thought that stung!There was none to believe we were broad-sheet piratesWhen the world was young!
Ah, yet (if ye stand me a noggin of rum) shall the old Blue Dolphin echo the story!We'll hoist the white cross-bones again in our palmy harbour of Caribbee!We'll wave farewell to our brown-skinned lasses and, chorussing out to the billows of glory,Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we'll follow the sunset over the sea!
While earth goes round, let rum go round!O, sing it as we sung!Half a hundred terrible piratesWhen the world was young!
IElf of the City, a lean little hollow-eyed boyRagged and tattered, but lithe as a slip of the Spring,Under the lamp-light he runs with a reckless joyShouting a murderer's doom or the death of a King.Out of the darkness he leaps like a wild strange hint,Herald of tragedy, comedy, crime and despair,Waving a poster that hurls you, in fierce black printOne wordMystery, under the lamp's white glare.IIElf of the night of the City he darts with his crewOut of a vaporous furnace of colour that wreathesMagical letters a-flicker from crimson to blueHigh overhead. All round him the mad world seethes.Hansoms, like cantering beetles, with diamond eyesRun through the moons of it; busses in yellow and redHoot; and St. Paul's is a bubble afloat in the skies,Watching the pale moths flit and the dark death's head.IIIPainted and powdered they shimmer and rustle and streamWestward, the night moths, masks of the Magdalen! See,Puck of the revels, he leaps through the sinister dreamWaving his elfin evangel ofMystery,Puck of the bubble or dome of their scoffing or trust,Puck of the fairy-like tower with the clock in its face,Puck of an Empire that whirls on a pellet of dustBearing his elfin device thro' the splendours of space.IVMystery—is it the scribble of doom on the dark,Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, again?Mystery—is it a scrap of remembrance, a sparkBurning still in the fog of a blind world's brain?Elf of the gossamer tangles of shadow and light,Wild electrical webs and the battle that rollsLeague upon perishing league thro' the ravenous night,Breaker on perishing breaker of human souls.VSoaked in the colours, a flake of the flying sprayFlung over wreckage and yeast of the murderous town,Onward he flaunts it, innocent, vicious and gay,Prophet of prayers that are stifled and loves that drown,Urchin and sprat of the City that roars like a seaSurging around him in hunger and splendour and shame,Cruelty, luxury, madness, he leaps in his gleeOut of the mazes of mist and the vistas of flame.VIRagged and tattered he scurries away in the gloom:Over the thundering traffic a moment his cryMystery! Mystery!—reckless of death and doomRings; and the great wheels roll and the world goes by.Lost, is it lost, that hollow-eyed flash of the light?—Poor little face flying by with the word that saves,Pale little mouth of the mask of the measureless night,Shrilling the heart of it, lost like the foam on its waves!
I
Elf of the City, a lean little hollow-eyed boyRagged and tattered, but lithe as a slip of the Spring,Under the lamp-light he runs with a reckless joyShouting a murderer's doom or the death of a King.
Out of the darkness he leaps like a wild strange hint,Herald of tragedy, comedy, crime and despair,Waving a poster that hurls you, in fierce black printOne wordMystery, under the lamp's white glare.
II
Elf of the night of the City he darts with his crewOut of a vaporous furnace of colour that wreathesMagical letters a-flicker from crimson to blueHigh overhead. All round him the mad world seethes.Hansoms, like cantering beetles, with diamond eyesRun through the moons of it; busses in yellow and redHoot; and St. Paul's is a bubble afloat in the skies,Watching the pale moths flit and the dark death's head.
III
Painted and powdered they shimmer and rustle and streamWestward, the night moths, masks of the Magdalen! See,Puck of the revels, he leaps through the sinister dreamWaving his elfin evangel ofMystery,Puck of the bubble or dome of their scoffing or trust,Puck of the fairy-like tower with the clock in its face,Puck of an Empire that whirls on a pellet of dustBearing his elfin device thro' the splendours of space.
IV
Mystery—is it the scribble of doom on the dark,Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, again?Mystery—is it a scrap of remembrance, a sparkBurning still in the fog of a blind world's brain?Elf of the gossamer tangles of shadow and light,Wild electrical webs and the battle that rollsLeague upon perishing league thro' the ravenous night,Breaker on perishing breaker of human souls.
V
Soaked in the colours, a flake of the flying sprayFlung over wreckage and yeast of the murderous town,Onward he flaunts it, innocent, vicious and gay,Prophet of prayers that are stifled and loves that drown,Urchin and sprat of the City that roars like a seaSurging around him in hunger and splendour and shame,Cruelty, luxury, madness, he leaps in his gleeOut of the mazes of mist and the vistas of flame.
VI
Ragged and tattered he scurries away in the gloom:Over the thundering traffic a moment his cryMystery! Mystery!—reckless of death and doomRings; and the great wheels roll and the world goes by.Lost, is it lost, that hollow-eyed flash of the light?—Poor little face flying by with the word that saves,Pale little mouth of the mask of the measureless night,Shrilling the heart of it, lost like the foam on its waves!
This outer world is but the pictured scrollOf worlds within the soul,A coloured chart, a blazoned missal-bookWhereon who rightly lookMay spell the splendours with their mortal eyesAnd steer to Paradise.O, well for him that knows and early knowsIn his own soul the roseSecretly burgeons, of this earthly flowerThe heavenly paramour:And all these fairy dreams of green-wood fern,These waves that break and yearn,Shadows and hieroglyphs, hills, clouds and seas,Faces and flowers and trees,Terrestrial picture-parables, relateEach to its heavenly mate.O, well for him that finds in sky and seaThis two-fold mystery,And loses not (as painfully he spellsThe fine-spun syllables)The cadences, the burning inner gleam,The poet's heavenly dream.Well for the poet if this earthly chartBe printed in his heart,When to his world of spirit woods and seasWith eager face he fleesAnd treads the untrodden fields of unknown flowersAnd threads the angelic bowers,And hears that unheard nightingale whose moanTrembles within his own,And lovers murmuring in the leafy lanesOf his own joys and pains.For though he voyages further than the flightOf earthly day and night,Traversing to the sky's remotest endsA world that he transcends,Safe, he shall hear the hidden breakers roarAgainst the mystic shore;Shall roam the yellow sands where sirens bareTheir breasts and wind their hair;Shall with their perfumed tresses blind his eyes,And still possess the skies.He, where the deep unearthly jungles are,Beneath his Eastern starShall pass the tawny lion in his denAnd cross the quaking fen.He learnt his path (and treads it undefiled)When, as a little child,He bent his head with long and loving looksO'er earthly picture-books.His earthly love nestles against his side,His young celestial guide.
This outer world is but the pictured scrollOf worlds within the soul,A coloured chart, a blazoned missal-bookWhereon who rightly lookMay spell the splendours with their mortal eyesAnd steer to Paradise.
O, well for him that knows and early knowsIn his own soul the roseSecretly burgeons, of this earthly flowerThe heavenly paramour:And all these fairy dreams of green-wood fern,These waves that break and yearn,Shadows and hieroglyphs, hills, clouds and seas,Faces and flowers and trees,Terrestrial picture-parables, relateEach to its heavenly mate.
O, well for him that finds in sky and seaThis two-fold mystery,And loses not (as painfully he spellsThe fine-spun syllables)The cadences, the burning inner gleam,The poet's heavenly dream.
Well for the poet if this earthly chartBe printed in his heart,When to his world of spirit woods and seasWith eager face he fleesAnd treads the untrodden fields of unknown flowersAnd threads the angelic bowers,And hears that unheard nightingale whose moanTrembles within his own,And lovers murmuring in the leafy lanesOf his own joys and pains.
For though he voyages further than the flightOf earthly day and night,Traversing to the sky's remotest endsA world that he transcends,Safe, he shall hear the hidden breakers roarAgainst the mystic shore;Shall roam the yellow sands where sirens bareTheir breasts and wind their hair;Shall with their perfumed tresses blind his eyes,And still possess the skies.
He, where the deep unearthly jungles are,Beneath his Eastern starShall pass the tawny lion in his denAnd cross the quaking fen.He learnt his path (and treads it undefiled)When, as a little child,He bent his head with long and loving looksO'er earthly picture-books.His earthly love nestles against his side,His young celestial guide.
Between my face and the warm blue skyThe crisp white clouds go sailing by,And the only sound is the sound of your breathing,The song of a bird and the sea's long sigh.Here, on the downs, as a tale re-toldThe sprays of the gorse are a-blaze with gold,As of old, on the sea-washed hills of my boyhood,Breathing the same sweet scent as of old.Under a ragged golden sprayThe great sea sparkles far away,Beautiful, bright, as my heart remembersMany a dazzle of waves in May.Long ago as I watched them shineUnder the boughs of fir and pine,Here I watch them to-day and wonder,Here, with my love's hand warm in mine.The soft wings pass that we used to chase,Dreams that I dreamed had left not a trace,The same, the same, with the bars of crimsonThe green-veined white, with its floating grace,The same to the least bright fleck on their wings!And I close my eyes, and a lost bird sings,And a far sea sighs, and the old sweet fragranceWraps me round with the dear dead springs,Wraps me round with the springs to beWhen lovers that think not of you or meLaugh, but our eyes will be closed in darkness,Closed to the sky and the gorse and the sea,And the same great glory of ragged goldOnce more, once more, as a tale re-toldShall whisper their hearts with the same sweet fragranceAnd their warm hands cling, as of old, as of old.Dead and un-born, the same blue skiesCover us! Love, as I read your eyes,Do I not know whose love enfolds us,As we fold the past in our memories,Past, present, future, the old and the new?From the depths of the grave a cry breaks throughAnd trembles, a sky-lark blind in the azure,The depths of the all-enfolding blue.O, resurrection of folded yearsDeep in our hearts, with your smiles and tears,Dead and un-born shall not He rememberWho folds our cry in His heart, and hears.
Between my face and the warm blue skyThe crisp white clouds go sailing by,And the only sound is the sound of your breathing,The song of a bird and the sea's long sigh.
Here, on the downs, as a tale re-toldThe sprays of the gorse are a-blaze with gold,As of old, on the sea-washed hills of my boyhood,Breathing the same sweet scent as of old.
Under a ragged golden sprayThe great sea sparkles far away,Beautiful, bright, as my heart remembersMany a dazzle of waves in May.
Long ago as I watched them shineUnder the boughs of fir and pine,Here I watch them to-day and wonder,Here, with my love's hand warm in mine.
The soft wings pass that we used to chase,Dreams that I dreamed had left not a trace,The same, the same, with the bars of crimsonThe green-veined white, with its floating grace,
The same to the least bright fleck on their wings!And I close my eyes, and a lost bird sings,And a far sea sighs, and the old sweet fragranceWraps me round with the dear dead springs,
Wraps me round with the springs to beWhen lovers that think not of you or meLaugh, but our eyes will be closed in darkness,Closed to the sky and the gorse and the sea,
And the same great glory of ragged goldOnce more, once more, as a tale re-toldShall whisper their hearts with the same sweet fragranceAnd their warm hands cling, as of old, as of old.
Dead and un-born, the same blue skiesCover us! Love, as I read your eyes,Do I not know whose love enfolds us,As we fold the past in our memories,
Past, present, future, the old and the new?From the depths of the grave a cry breaks throughAnd trembles, a sky-lark blind in the azure,The depths of the all-enfolding blue.
O, resurrection of folded yearsDeep in our hearts, with your smiles and tears,Dead and un-born shall not He rememberWho folds our cry in His heart, and hears.
A health, a ringing health, unto the kingOf all our hearts to-day! But what proud songShould follow on the thought, nor do him wrong?Except the sea were harp, each mirthful stringThe lovely lightning of the nights of Spring,And Dawn the lonely listener, glad and graveWith colours of the sea-shell and the waveIn brightening eye and cheek, there is none to sing!Drink to him, as men upon an Alpine peakBrim one immortal cup of crimson wine,And into it drop one pure cold crust of snow,Then hold it up, too rapturously to speakAnd drink—to the mountains, line on glittering line,Surging away into the sunset-glow.
A health, a ringing health, unto the kingOf all our hearts to-day! But what proud songShould follow on the thought, nor do him wrong?Except the sea were harp, each mirthful stringThe lovely lightning of the nights of Spring,And Dawn the lonely listener, glad and graveWith colours of the sea-shell and the waveIn brightening eye and cheek, there is none to sing!
Drink to him, as men upon an Alpine peakBrim one immortal cup of crimson wine,And into it drop one pure cold crust of snow,Then hold it up, too rapturously to speakAnd drink—to the mountains, line on glittering line,Surging away into the sunset-glow.
IApril from shore to shore, from sea to sea,April in heaven and on the springing sprayBuoyant with birds that sing to welcome MayAnd April in those eyes that mourn for thee:"This is my singing month; my hawthorn treeBurgeons once more," we seemed to hear thee say,"This is my singing month: my fingers strayOver the lute. What shall the music be?"And April answered with too great a songFor mortal lips to sing or hearts to hear,Heard only of that high invisible throngFor whom thy song makes April all the year!"My singing month, what bringest thou?" Her breathSwooned with all music, and she answered—"Death."IIAh, but on earth,—"can'st thou, too, die,"Low she whispers, "lover of mine?"April, queen over earth and skyWhispers, her trembling lashes shine:"Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye,Down to the dim sea-line."Home to the heart of thine old-world lover,Home to thy "fair green-girdled" sea!There shall thy soul with the sea-birds hover,Free of the deep as their wings are free;Free, for the grave-flowers only coverThis, the dark cage of thee.Thee, the storm-bird, nightingale-souled,Brother of Sappho, the seas reclaim!Age upon age have the great waves rolledMad with her music, exultant, aflame;Thee, thee too, shall their glory enfold,Lit with thy snow-winged fame.Back, thro' the years, fleets the sea-bird's wing:Sappho, of old time, once,—ah, hark!So did he love her of old and sing!Listen, he flies to her, back thro' the dark!Sappho, of old time, once.... Yea, SpringCalls him home to her, hark!Sappho, long since, in the years far sped,Sappho, I loved thee!Did I not seemFosterling only of earth? I have fled,Fled to thee, sister. Time is a dream!Shelley is here with us! Death lies dead!Ah, how the bright waves gleam.Wide was the cage-door, idly swinging;April touched me and whispered "Come."Out and away to the great deep winging,Sister, I flashed to thee over the foam,Out to the sea of Eternity, singing"Mother, thy child comes home."* * * *Ah, but how shall we welcome MayHere where the wing of song droops low,Here by the last green swinging sprayBrushed by the sea-bird's wings of snow,We that gazed on his glorious wayOut where the great winds blow?Here upon earth—"can'st thou, too, die,Lover of life and lover of mine?"April, conquering earth and skyWhispers, her trembling lashes shine:"Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye,Down to the dim sea-line."
I
April from shore to shore, from sea to sea,April in heaven and on the springing sprayBuoyant with birds that sing to welcome MayAnd April in those eyes that mourn for thee:"This is my singing month; my hawthorn treeBurgeons once more," we seemed to hear thee say,"This is my singing month: my fingers strayOver the lute. What shall the music be?"
And April answered with too great a songFor mortal lips to sing or hearts to hear,Heard only of that high invisible throngFor whom thy song makes April all the year!"My singing month, what bringest thou?" Her breathSwooned with all music, and she answered—"Death."
II
Ah, but on earth,—"can'st thou, too, die,"Low she whispers, "lover of mine?"April, queen over earth and skyWhispers, her trembling lashes shine:"Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye,Down to the dim sea-line."
Home to the heart of thine old-world lover,Home to thy "fair green-girdled" sea!There shall thy soul with the sea-birds hover,Free of the deep as their wings are free;Free, for the grave-flowers only coverThis, the dark cage of thee.
Thee, the storm-bird, nightingale-souled,Brother of Sappho, the seas reclaim!Age upon age have the great waves rolledMad with her music, exultant, aflame;Thee, thee too, shall their glory enfold,Lit with thy snow-winged fame.
Back, thro' the years, fleets the sea-bird's wing:Sappho, of old time, once,—ah, hark!So did he love her of old and sing!Listen, he flies to her, back thro' the dark!Sappho, of old time, once.... Yea, SpringCalls him home to her, hark!
Sappho, long since, in the years far sped,Sappho, I loved thee!Did I not seemFosterling only of earth? I have fled,Fled to thee, sister. Time is a dream!Shelley is here with us! Death lies dead!Ah, how the bright waves gleam.
Wide was the cage-door, idly swinging;April touched me and whispered "Come."Out and away to the great deep winging,Sister, I flashed to thee over the foam,Out to the sea of Eternity, singing"Mother, thy child comes home."
* * * *
Ah, but how shall we welcome MayHere where the wing of song droops low,Here by the last green swinging sprayBrushed by the sea-bird's wings of snow,We that gazed on his glorious wayOut where the great winds blow?
Here upon earth—"can'st thou, too, die,Lover of life and lover of mine?"April, conquering earth and skyWhispers, her trembling lashes shine:"Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye,Down to the dim sea-line."