Tacking Ship off Shore

And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,

A home on the rolling sea!

A life on the ocean wave!

I 549

Epes Sargent [1813-1880]

TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE

THE weather-leech of the topsail shivers,

The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken,

The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,

And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island Head.
There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,
And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of “Full and by!"
Is suddenly changed for "Full for stays!"

The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas,
As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"

It is silence all, as each in his place,

With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "Ready! About!"

No time to spare! It is touch and go;

And the captain growls, "Down helm! hard down!"

As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,

While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud's frown.

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,

As I answer, "Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!"

With the swerving leap of a startled steed
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind,
The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,

And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse,

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats;
The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps;
And thunders the order, "Tacks and sheets!"

Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew,
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall:

The sails are aback from clew to clew,
And now is the moment for "Mainsail, haul!"

And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy,
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung:

She holds her way, and I look with joy

For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.

"Let go, and haul!" "Tis the last command, And the head-sails fill to the blast once more: Astern and to leeward lies the land,

With its breakers white on the shingly shore.

What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall?
I steady the helm for the open sea;
The first mate clamors, "Belay, there,

all!"

And the captain's breath once more comes free.

And so off shore let the good ship fly;

Little care I how the gusts may blow,

In my fo'castle bunk, in a jacket dry.

Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

Walter Mitchell [1826-1908]

Poor Jack

1551

IN OUR BOAT

STARS trembling o'er us and sunset before us,
Mountains in shadow and forests asleep;
Down the dim river we float on forever,

Speak not, ah, breathe not-there's peace on the deep.

Come not, pale sorrow, flee till to-morrow;
Rest softly falling o'er eyelids that weep;
While down the river we float on forever,

Speak not, ah, breathe not-there's peace on the deep.

As the waves cover the depths we glide over,
So let the past in forgetfulness sleep,

While down the river we float on forever,

Speak not, ah, breathe not-there's peace on the deep.

Heaven shine above us, bless all that love us;

All whom we love in thy tenderness keep!

While down the river we float on forever,

Speak not, ah, breathe not-there's peace on the deep.
Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

POOR JACK

Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A water-tight boat and good sea-room for me,

And it ain't to a little I'll strike.

Though the tempest topgallant-masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and house everything tight, And under reefed foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay;
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch;
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow:

"For," says he, "do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

I said to our Poll,-for, d'ye see, she would cry,
When last we weighed anchor for sea,-
"What argufies sniveling and piping your eye?

Why, what a blamed fool you must be!

Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

You never will hear of me more.

What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft:

Perhaps I may laughing come back;

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, without offering to flinch
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Naught's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my will, 'tis the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft

Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

Charles Dibdin [1745-1814]

Outward

1553

"ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP"

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep

I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For Thou, O Lord! hast power to save.
I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall;
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

When in the dead of night I lie
And gaze upon the trackless sky,
The star-bespangled heavenly scroll,
The boundless waters as they roll,-
I feel Thy wondrous power to save
From perils of the stormy wave:
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I calmly rest and soundly sleep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.
In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!

And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,

Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

Emma Hart Willard [1787-1870]

OUTWARD

WHITHER away, O Sailor! say?
Under the night, under the day,
Yearning sail and flying spray
Out of the black into the blue,
Where are the great Winds bearing you?

Never port shall lift for me

Into the sky, out of the sea!