BALLADS OF LOST HAVEN, A BOOK OF THE SEA

Lamson, Wolffe and Company Boston, New York and London. 1897

A Son Of The Sea

The Gravedigger

The Yule Guest

The Marring Of Malyn

  I. The Merrymakers

  II. A Sailor's Wedding

  III. The Light On The Marsh

The Nancy's Pride

Arnold, Master Of The Scud

The Ships Of St. John

The King Of Ys

The Kelpie Riders

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

Noons Of Poppy

Legends Of Lost Haven

The Shadow Boatswain

The Master Of The Isles

The Last Watch

Outbound

A SON OF THE SEA

    I was born for deep-sea faring;

    I was bred to put to sea;

    Stories of my father's daring

    Filled me at my mother's knee.

    I was sired among the surges;

    I was cubbed beside the foam;

    All my heart is in its verges,

    And the sea wind is my home.

    All my boyhood, from far vernal

    Bourns of being, came to me

    Dream-like, plangent, and eternal

    Memories of the plunging sea.

THE GRAVEDIGGER

    Oh, the shambling sea is a sexton old,

    And well his work is done.

    With an equal grave for lord and knave,

    He buries them every one.

    Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,

    He makes for the nearest shore;

    And God, who sent him a thousand ship,

    Will send him a thousand more;

    But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,

    And shoulder them in to shore,--

    Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,

    Shoulder them in to shore.

    Oh, the ships of Greece and the ships of Tyre

    Went out, and where are they?

    In the port they made, they are delayed

    With the ships of yesterday.

    He followed the ships of England far,

    As the ships of long ago;

    And the ships of France they led him a dance,

    But he laid them all arow.

    Oh, a loafing, idle lubber to him

    Is the sexton of the town;

    For sure and swift, with a guiding lift,

    He shovels the dead men down.

    But though he delves so fierce and grim,

    His honest graves are wide,

    As well they know who sleep below

    The dredge of the deepest tide.

    Oh, he works with a rollicking stave at lip,

    And loud is the chorus skirled;

    With the burly rote of his rumbling throat

    He batters it down the world.

    He learned it once in his father's house,

    Where the ballads of eld were sung;

    And merry enough is the burden rough,

    But no man knows the tongue.

    Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see,

    And wilful she must have been,

    That she could bide at his gruesome side

    When the first red dawn came in.

    And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those

    She greets to his border home;

    And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep

    That beckons, and they come.

    Oh, crooked is he, but strong enough

    To handle the tallest mast;

    From the royal barque to the slaver dark,

    He buries them all at last.

    Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,

    He makes for the nearest shore;

    And God, who sent him a thousand ship,

    Will send him a thousand more;

    But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,

    And shoulder them in to shore,--

    Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,

    Shoulder them in to shore.

THE YULE GUEST

    And Yanna by the yule log

    Sat in the empty hall,

    And watched the goblin firelight

    Caper upon the wall:

    The goblins of the hearthstone,

    Who teach the wind to sing,

    Who dance the frozen yule away

    And usher back the spring;

    The goblins of the Northland,

    Who teach the gulls to scream,

    Who dance the autumn into dust,

    The ages into dream.

    Like the tall corn was Yanna,

    Bending and smooth and fair,--

    His Yanna of the sea-gray eyes

    And harvest-yellow hair.

    Child of the low-voiced people

    Who dwell among the hills,

    She had the lonely calm and poise

    Of life that waits and wills.

    Only to-night a little

    With grave regard she smiled,

    Remembering the morn she woke

    And ceased to be a child.

    Outside, the ghostly rampikes,

    Those armies of the moon,

    Stood while the ranks of stars drew on

    To that more spacious noon,--

    While over them in silence

    Waved on the dusk afar

    The gold flags of the Northern light

    Streaming with ancient war.

    And when below the headland

    The riders of the foam

    Up from the misty border rode

    The wild gray horses home,

    And woke the wintry mountains

    With thunder on the shore,

    Out of the night there came a weird

    And cried at Yanna's door.

    "O Yanna, Adrianna,

    They buried me away

    In the blue fathoms of the deep,

    Beyond the outer bay.

    "But in the yule, O Yanna,

    Up from the round dim sea

    And reeling dungeons of the fog,

    I am come back to thee!"

    The wind slept in the forest,

    The moon was white and high,

    Only the shifting snow awoke

    To hear the yule guest cry.

    "O Yanna, Yanna, Yanna,

    Be quick and let me in!

    For bitter is the trackless way

    And far that I have been!"

    Then Yanna by the yule log

    Starts from her dream to hear

    A voice that bids her brooding heart

    Shudder with joy and fear.

    The wind is up a moment

    And whistles at the...