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Various
Ballads of Bravery
The Loss of the Hornet
CALL the watch! call the watch!
“Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard
How a noble ship so trim, like our own, my hearties, here,
All scudding ’fore the gale, disappeared,
Where yon southern billows roll o’er their bed so green and clear?
Hold the reel! keep her full! hold the reel!
How she flew athwart the spray, as, shipmates, we do now,
Till her twice a hundred fearless hearts of steel
Felt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge her
downward bow!
Bear a hand!
Strike top-gallants! mind your helm! jump aloft!
’Twas such a night as this, my lads, a rakish bark was drowned,
When demons foul, that whisper seamen oft,
Scooped a tomb amid the flashing surge that never shall be found.
Square the yards! a double reef! Hark the blast!
O, fiercely has it fallen on the war-ship of the brave,
When its tempest fury stretched the stately mast
All along her foamy sides, as they shouted on the wave,
“Bear a hand!”
Call the watch! call the watch!
“Ho! the larboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard
How a vessel, gay and taut, on the mountains of the sea,
Went below, with all her warlike crew on board,
They who battled for the happy, boys, and perished for the free?
Clew, clew up, fore and aft! keep away!
How the vulture bird of death, in its black and viewless form,
Hovered sure o’er the clamors of his prey,
While through all their dripping shrouds yelled the spirit of
the storm!
Bear a hand!
Now out reefs! brace the yards! lively there!
O, no more to homeward breeze shall her swelling bosom spread,
But love’s expectant eye bid despair
Set her raven watch eternal o’er the wreck in ocean’s bed.
Board your tacks! cheerly, boys! But for them,
Their last evening gun is fired, their gales are overblown;
O’er their smoking deck no starry flag shall stream;
They’ll sail no more, they’ll fight no more, for their gallant
ship’s gone down.
Bear a hand!
Man the Life-boat
MAN the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
Help, or yon ship is lost!
Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
See how she’s tempest-tossed.
No human power in such an hour
The gallant bark can save;
Her mainmast gone, and running on,
She seeks her watery grave.
Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!
See, the dreaded signal flies!
Ha! she’s struck, and from the wreck
Despairing shouts arise.
O, speed the life-boat! Speed the life-boat!
O God, their efforts crown!
She dashes on; the ship is gone,
Full forty fathoms down.
And see, the crew are struggling now
Amidst the tempest roar.
They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat, —
Hurrah! they’ve gained the shore.
Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!
O God, thou’lt hear our prayer!
Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!
No longer we’ll despair.
Sir Galahad
MY good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,
The horse and rider reel:
They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
And when the tide of combat stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.
How sweet are looks that ladies bend
On whom their favors fall!
For them I battle till the end,
To save from shame and thrall:
But all my heart is drawn above,
My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine:
I never felt the kiss of love,
Nor maiden’s hand in mine.
More bounteous aspects on me beam,
Me mightier transports move and thrill;
So keep I fair through faith and prayer
A virgin heart in work and will.
When down the stormy crescent goes,
A light before me swims,
Between dark stems the forest glows,
I hear a noise of hymns:
Then by some secret shrine I ride;
I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,
The silver vessels sparkle clean,
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chants resound between.
Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark;
I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars.
When on my goodly charger borne
Through dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
But o’er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
A maiden knight, to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odors haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel’s hand,
This mortal armor that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
Are touched, are turned to finest air.
The clouds are broken in the sky,
And through the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony
Swells up, and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
“O just and faithful knight of God,
Ride on! the prize is near.”
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All armed I ride, whate’er betide,
Until I find the holy Grail.
King Canute and his Nobles
CANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy
That, by a kind of royal necromancy,
He had the power old Ocean to control.
Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,
And issued, like a Solomon, command, – poor soul!
“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he;
“Touch not your lord and master, Sea;
For by my power almighty, if you do – ”
Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,
Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick,
Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.
The sea retired, – the monarch fierce rushed on,
And looked as if he’d drive him from the land;
But Sea, not caring to be put upon,
Made for a moment a bold stand.
Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,
But to his waves he made a motion,
And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.
The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,
For soon they put his Majesty in pickle,
And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.
All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,
Sound did they make him wish himself on shore;
His head and ears they most handsomely doused, —
Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,
The waves so tumbled the poor king about.
No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.
At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,
Indeed, more like a crab than like a king,
And found his courtiers making rueful faces;
But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,
Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,
All trembling for their lives or places?
“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,
I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle;
My treatment from my foe, not overnice,
Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.
“A pretty trick for one of my dominion!
My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.
You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game
And bid me try another, – for the rubber.
Permit me to inform you all, with shame,
That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”
Outward Bound
CLINK – clink – clink! goes our windlass.
“Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!”
Yards braced and sails set,
Flags uncurl and flow.
Some eyes that watch from shore are wet,
(How bright their welcome shone!)
While, bending softly to the breeze,
And rushing through the parted seas,
Our gallant ship glides on.
Though one has left a sweetheart,
And one has left a wife,
’Twill never do to mope and fret,
Or curse a sailor’s life.
See, far away they signal yet, —
They dwindle – fade – they’re gone:
For, dashing outwards, bold and brave,
And springing light from wave to wave,
Our merry ship flies on.
Gay spreads the sparkling ocean;
But many a gloomy night
And stormy morrow must be met
Ere next we heave in sight.
The parting look we’ll ne’er forget,
The kiss, the benison,
As round the rolling world we go.
God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow!
Sail on, good ship, sail on!
The Brides of Venice
It was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth,
As to some grand solemnity. The fisher
Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves
His wife and little one; the husbandman
From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,
Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;
And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,
So great the stir in Venice. Old and young
Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,
Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,
In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the state,
They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,
Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,”
Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.
At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,
Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;
And never from the first was to be seen
Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two
(The richest tapestry unrolled before them),
First came the brides in all their loveliness;
Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed.
Only less lovely, who behind her bore
The precious caskets that within contained
The dowry and the presents. On she moved,
Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand
A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.
Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,
Fell from beneath a starry diadem;
And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,
Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;
A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,
Wreathing her gold brocade.
Before the church,
That venerable pile on the sea-brink,
Another train they met, – no strangers to them, —
Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer,
Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,
And, as he walked, with modest dignity
Folding his scarlet mantle, his tabarro.
They join, they enter in, and up the aisle
Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,
Range round the altar. In his vestments there
The patriarch stands; and while the anthem flows,
Who can look on unmoved? Mothers in secret
Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters;
Sons in the thought of making them their own;
And they, arrayed in youth and innocence,
Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.
At length the rite is ending. All fall down
In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together;
And stretching out his hands, the holy man
Proceeds to give the general benediction,
When hark! a din of voices from without,
And shrieks and groans and outcries, as in battle;
And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,
And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,
Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo
And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like,
Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,
Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;
Then, as at once recovering from the spell,
Rush forward to the altar, and as soon
Are gone again, amid no clash of arms,
Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.
Where are they now? Ploughing the distant waves,
Their sails all set, and they upon the deck
Standing triumphant. To the east they go,
Steering for Istria, their accursed barks
(Well are they known, the galliot and the galley)
Freighted with all that gives to life its value
The richest argosies were poor to them!
Now might you see the matrons running wild
Along the beach; the men half armed and arming;
One with a shield, one with a casque and spear;
One with an axe, hewing the mooring-chain
Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,
But on that day was drifting. In an hour
Half Venice was afloat. But long before, —
Frantic with grief, and scorning all control, —
The youths were gone in a light brigantine,
Lying at anchor near the arsenal;
Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,
To slay or to be slain.
And from the tower
The watchman gives the signal. In the east
A ship is seen, and making for the port;
Her flag St. Mark’s. And now she turns the point,
Over the waters like a sea-bird flying.
Ha! ’tis the same, ’tis theirs! From stern to prow
Hung with green boughs, she comes, she comes, restoring
All that was lost!
Coasting, with narrow search.
Friuli, like a tiger in his spring,
They had surprised the corsairs where they lay,
Sharing the spoil in blind security,
And casting lots; had slain them one and all, —
All to the last, – and flung them far and wide
Into the sea, their proper element.
Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long
Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet
Breathing a little, in his look retained
The fierceness of his soul.
Thus were the brides
Lost and recovered. And what now remained
But to give thanks? Twelve breastplates and twelve crowns,
Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings
Of the young victors to their patron saint,
Vowed on the field of battle, were erelong
Laid at his feet; and to preserve forever
The memory of a day so full of change,
From joy to grief, from grief to joy again,
Through many an age, as oft as it came round,
’Twas held religiously with all observance.
The Doge resigned his crimson for pure ermine;
And through the city in a stately barge
Of gold were borne, with songs and symphonies,
Twelve ladies young and noble. Clad they were
In bridal white with bridal ornaments,
Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck
As on a burnished throne, they glided by.
No window or balcony but adorned
With hangings of rich texture; not a roof
But covered with beholders, and the air
Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars
Moving in concert with the harmony,
Through the Rialto to the ducal palace;
And at a banquet there, served with due honor,
Sat, representing in the eyes of all —
Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears —
Their lovely ancestors, the “Brides of Venice.”