PORTRAITS FROM STEVENSON

George Steele Seymour

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing,The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea,The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling,And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed—When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing,

The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea,

The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling,

And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?

The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?

The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,

She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,

Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,

When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed—When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,

With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,

Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed—

When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!

Is't you, Alan? You of the ready swordAnd nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye,Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spyAught that might touch your own dear absent lord!Hero and clown! How it sets every chordAthrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh,And all your brave, fantastic finery!Romance no stranger picture doth afford.For I have met you in the House of Fear,Have watched you cross the torrent of GlencoeAnd climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.We are old comrades, and I hold most dearThis loyal friend and yet more loyal foeWho bore a kingly name with kingly pride.

Is't you, Alan? You of the ready sword

And nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye,

Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spy

Aught that might touch your own dear absent lord!

Hero and clown! How it sets every chord

Athrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh,

And all your brave, fantastic finery!

Romance no stranger picture doth afford.

For I have met you in the House of Fear,Have watched you cross the torrent of GlencoeAnd climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.We are old comrades, and I hold most dearThis loyal friend and yet more loyal foeWho bore a kingly name with kingly pride.

For I have met you in the House of Fear,

Have watched you cross the torrent of Glencoe

And climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.

We are old comrades, and I hold most dear

This loyal friend and yet more loyal foe

Who bore a kingly name with kingly pride.

Was there a rustle of the leafy bed?Heard you no footstep in the matted grass?Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows passWhat is it lurks so still? What secret dreadTroubles the tangled branches overhead?An ye be foe to this good man, alas!No art shall save you though ye walk in brass.Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.The woods are still—for that was years ago—And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,No train-band rules the highway as of yore.Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,And the black arrow speeds its way no more.

Was there a rustle of the leafy bed?

Heard you no footstep in the matted grass?

Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows pass

What is it lurks so still? What secret dread

Troubles the tangled branches overhead?

An ye be foe to this good man, alas!

No art shall save you though ye walk in brass.

Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.

The woods are still—for that was years ago—And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,No train-band rules the highway as of yore.Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,And the black arrow speeds its way no more.

The woods are still—for that was years ago—

And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,

No train-band rules the highway as of yore.

Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.

Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,

And the black arrow speeds its way no more.

Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe.The noble lord your uncle—bless his name!And may your wicked captors die in shame.I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead—so!The castle cliff is steep, but down belowBoth fortune and the lady Flora wait.Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate,Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.What's that! A chest of florins in the dragGone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.

Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe.

The noble lord your uncle—bless his name!

And may your wicked captors die in shame.

I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead—so!

The castle cliff is steep, but down below

Both fortune and the lady Flora wait.

Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate,

Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.

The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.What's that! A chest of florins in the dragGone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.

The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.

Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.

What's that! A chest of florins in the drag

Gone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!

Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...

Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.

Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavourI recommend. A smoke-royal. With white winesYou'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savourComes only in stock from the Isle of Pines.Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian,Such as no other merchant has to sell,And Trichinopoly of the same descriptionI smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,Left my exalted home and wandered far,Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.Till Louis looked from out the empyreanAnd in the dust of Mayfair found a star.

Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavour

I recommend. A smoke-royal. With white wines

You'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savour

Comes only in stock from the Isle of Pines.

Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian,

Such as no other merchant has to sell,

And Trichinopoly of the same description

I smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.

That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,Left my exalted home and wandered far,Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.Till Louis looked from out the empyreanAnd in the dust of Mayfair found a star.

That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,

Left my exalted home and wandered far,

Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,

Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.

Till Louis looked from out the empyrean

And in the dust of Mayfair found a star.

Green palm-tops bending low by silent seasLike heads in prayer—Life's turmoil nor its multiplicitiesAre there.But only calms and potencies hold swayThat will not be denied,Come with the surge of dawn and drift awayWith the ebb tide.

Green palm-tops bending low by silent seasLike heads in prayer—Life's turmoil nor its multiplicitiesAre there.

Green palm-tops bending low by silent seas

Like heads in prayer—

Life's turmoil nor its multiplicities

Are there.

But only calms and potencies hold swayThat will not be denied,Come with the surge of dawn and drift awayWith the ebb tide.

But only calms and potencies hold sway

That will not be denied,

Come with the surge of dawn and drift away

With the ebb tide.

FOOTNOTES:[A]Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the secret of transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.[B]Paua—Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge clam. When it closes on any one, his only escape is by losing the limb.

FOOTNOTES:

[A]Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the secret of transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.

[B]Paua—Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge clam. When it closes on any one, his only escape is by losing the limb.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been standardized.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been standardized.

Back to Index Next