The Call of the Sea

Gone are the days of canvas sails!

No more great sailors telltheir tales

In country taverns, barter pearls

For kisses from strange little girls;

And when the landlord’s merry daughter

Heard their rough jokes and shrieked with laughter,

They threw a muffler of rare fur,

That hid her neck from ear to ear.

Ho, ho! my merry men; they know

Where gold is plentiful- Sail ho!

How they did love the rude wild Sea!

The rude, unflattering Sea; for he

Will not lie down for monarch’s yacht,

No more than merchant’s barge; he’ll not

Keep graves with marks of wood or stone

For fish or fowl, or human bone.

The Sea is loth to lose a friend;

Men of one voyage, who did spend

Six months with him, hear his vexed cry

Haunting their houses till they die.

And for the sake of him they let

The winds blow them, and the raindrops wet

Their foreheads with fresh water sprays-

Thinking of his wild, salty days.

And well they love to saunter near

A river, and its motion hear;

And see ships lying in calm beds,

That danced upon seas’ living heads;

And in their dreams they hear again

Men’s voices in a hurricane-

Like ghosts complaining that their graves

Are moving by sacrilegious waves.

And they do love to stand and hear

The old seafaring men that fear

Land more than water; carts and trains

More than wild waves and hurricanes.

And they do walk with love and pride

The tattooed mariner beside-

Chains, anchors on his arm, and ships-

And listen to his bearded lips.

Aye they will hear the Sea’s vexed cry

Haunted their houses till they die.