Ballads of the Sea

[Dark Muse]

I thought I would open a thread dedicated to ballads of the sea from collected different poets, becasue I do so enjoy them.

A Nautical Ballad

A CAPITAL ship for an ocean trip
Was The Walloping Window-blind --
No gale that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain's mind.
The man at the wheel was taught to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow,
And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,
That he'd been in his bunk below.

The boatswain's mate was very sedate,
Yet fond of amusement, too;
And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,
While the captain tickled the crew.
And the gunner we had was apparently mad,
For he sat on the after-rail,
And fired salutes with the captain's boots,
In the teeth of the booming gale.

The captain sat in a commodore's hat
And dined, in a royal way,
On toasted pigs and pickles and figs
And gummery bread, each day.
But the cook was Dutch, and behaved as such;
For the food that he gave the crew
Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns,
Chopped up with sugar and glue.

And we all felt ill as mariners will,
On a diet that's cheap and rude;
And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook
In a tub of his gluesome food.
Then nautical pride we laid aside,
And we cast the vessel ashore
On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,
And the Anagazanders roar.

Composed of sand was that favored land,
And trimmed with cinnamon straws;
And pink and blue was the pleasing hue
Of the Tickletoeteaser's claws.
And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge
And shot at the whistling bee;
And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats
As they danced in the sounding sea.

On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark,
We fed, till we all had grown
Uncommonly shrunk, -- when a Chinese junk
Came by from the torriby zone.
She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care,
And we cheerily put to sea;
And we left the crew of the junk to chew
The bark of the rubagub tree.

Charles Edward Carryl

[JBI]

There are some nice ones out of the province of Nova Scotia. Many of them stem from the oral tradition; here's one I particularly enjoy, which has become somewhat of a Maritime drinking song in Canada.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhkTfPXIEGI&feature=related

Though this is not sung by the composer, Stan Rogers, you can tell how popular it is by the sound of the crowds.

Here's an abridged version sung by the composer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-PQbdmQRwc

and the lyrics available here: http://artists.letssingit.com/stan-rogers-barretts-privateers-rx8tzpw

[Dark Muse]

Thank you for sharing, there are some Celtic Sea Ballads that I really like.

[Dark Muse]

The Sea

THE sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round!
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
I am where I would ever be;
With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What mater? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh, how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcy wild
As welcomed to life the ocean's child!

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea!

Barry Cornwall (Bryan Waller Procter)

[JBI]

http://www.amazon.ca/Songs-Ballads-Scotia-Helen-Creighton/dp/0486217035/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1218743915&sr=8-2

Perhaps you may be interested in that volume, if you interest runs deeper than a mere curiosity. The works are an interesting anthropological experience, though in terms of a poetic one, are rather similar.

[Dark Muse]

That sounds really interesting. I was at a Pirate festival once and they were selling these little books of authentic verses from the sea and I picked one up. I will have to find what happend to it.

[Dark Muse]

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast--
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

"O for a soft and gentle mind!"
I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high--
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud--
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free;
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham

[quasimodo1]

THE BERG (A Dream)

I SAW a ship of material build
(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)
Directed as by madness mere
Against a solid iceberg steer,
Nor budge it, though the infactuate ship went down.
The impact made huge ice-cubes fall
Sullen in tons that crashed the deck;
But that one avalanche was all--
No other movement save the foundering wreck.

Along the spurs of ridges pale,
Not any slenderest shaft and frail,
A prism over glass-green gorges lone,
Toppled; or lace or traceries fine,
Nor pendant drops in grot or mine
Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.
Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled
Circling one snow-flanked peak afar,
But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed
And crystal beaches, felt no jar.
No thrill transmitted stirred the lock
Of jack-straw neddle-ice at base;
Towers indermined by waves--the block
Atilt impending-- kept their place.
Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges
Slipt never, when by loftier edges
Through the inertia ovrthrown,
The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.

Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast,
With mortal damps self-overcast;
Exhaling still thy dankish breath--
Adrift dissolving, bound for death;
Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one--
A lumbering lubbard loitering slow,
Impingers rue thee ad go slow
Sounding thy precipice below,
Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls
Along thy dead indifference of walls.

Herman Melville

[Dark Muse]

Ballad of the Tempest

WE were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,--
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,--
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring
And the breakers talked with death.

As thus we sat in darkness
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spake in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

James T. Fields

[Logos]

One of my favs... The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (http://www.online-literature.com/coleridge/646/) by S.T Coleridge :)

....

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion -
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

`Is it he?' quoth one, `Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

....

[Dark Muse]

Oh yes, that is a good one.

Earth and Sea

IT does me good to see the ships
Back safely from the deep sea main;
To see the slender mizzen tips
And all the ropes that stood the strain;

To hear the old men shout, "Ahoy!"
Glad-hearted at the journey done,
Who fix the favourite to the buoy
Of sea and wind and moon and sun.

To meet, when sails are lashed to spars,
The men for whom earth's free from care,
And heaven a clock with certain stars,
And hell a word by which to swear.

Oliver St. John Gogarty

[Nossa]

Thank you for this thread DM! I really like these poems!

[Dark Muse]

I am glad you enjoy

[CathyEarnshaw]

The Forsaken Merman

COME, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below.
Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shoreward blow;
Now the salt tides seaward flow; 5
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away.
This way, this way!

Call her once before you go. 10
Call once yet.
In a voice that she will know:
'Margaret! Margaret!'
Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear; 15
Children's voices, wild with pain.
Surely she will come again.
Call her once and come away.
This way, this way!
'Mother dear, we cannot stay.' 20
The wild white horses foam and fret.
Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down.
Call no more.
One last look at the white-wall'd town, 25
And the little grey church on the windy shore.
Then come down.
She will not come though you call all day.
Come away, come away.
Children dear, was it yesterday 30
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail, and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye? 45
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sate with you and me, 50
On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sate on her knee.
She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of the far-off bell.
She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea. 55
She said, 'I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore to-day.
'Twill be Easter-time in the world—ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.'
I said, 'Go up, dear heart, through the waves. 60
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves.'
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?
'The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. 65
Long prayers,' I said, 'in the world they say.
Come,' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town.
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70
To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold-blowing airs.
We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 75
She sate by the pillar; we saw her dear:
'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart,' I said, 'we are long alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.'
But, ah! she gave me never a look, 80
For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Came away, children, call no more.
Come away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down; 85
Down to the depths of the sea.
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark what she sings: 'O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy. 90
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well.
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessèd light of the sun.'
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully, 95
Till the shuttle falls from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand;
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare; 100
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh 105
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children.
Come children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder; 110
Lights shine in the town.
She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar. 115
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl.
Singing, 'Here came a mortal, 120
But faithless was she:
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.'

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow; 125
When clear falls the moonlight;
When spring-tides are low:
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly 130
On the blanch'd sands a gloom:
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side—
And then come back down.
Singing, 'There dwells a loved one, 140
But cruel is she.
She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea.'

Matthew Arnold

[Dark Muse]

I think I have read this one before. Thanking you for sharing it, I do enjoy it.

[Dark Muse]

The Sea Gypsy

I AM fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.

There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.

I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.

Richard Hovey

[Dark Muse]

AT BEST

by: John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)

THE faithful helm commands the keel,
From port to port fair breezes blow;
But the ship must sail the convex sea,
Nor may she straighter go.

So, man to man; in fair accord,
On thought and will the winds may wait;
But the world will bend the passing word,
Though its shortest course be straight.

From soul to soul the shortest line
At best will bended be:
The ship that holds the straightest course
Still sails the convex sea.

[Dark Muse]

THE HARBOR OF DREAMS

by: Frank Dempster Sherman (1860-1916)

ONLY a whispering gale
Flutters the wings of the boat;
Only a bird in the vale
Lends to the silence a note
Mellow, subdued, and remote:
This is the twilight of peace,
This is the hour of release,
Free of all worry and fret,
Clean of all care and regret,
When like a bird in its nest
Fancy lies folded to rest.

This is the margin of sleep;
Here let the anchor be cast;
Here in forgetfulness deep,
Now that the journey is past,
Lower the sails from the mast.
Here is the bay of content,
Heaven and earth interblent;
Here is the haven that lies
Close to the gates of surprise;
Here all like Paradise seems --
Here is the harbor of dreams.

[Dark Muse]

A SEA GHOST

by: Frank Dempster Sherman (1860-1916)

ALL night I heard along the coast
The sea her grief outpour;
And with the dawn arose a ghost
To haunt the furrowed shore.

And when from out the gray mist rolled
The sun above the town,
A shipwrecked sailor came and told
Of how the ship went down.

Then did I sudden understand
The sobbing of the sea;
And of that white ghost on the sand
I knew the mystery.

[Dark Muse]

The Sea

BEAUTIFUL, sublime, and glorious;
Mild, majestic, foaming, free, --
Over time itself victorious,
Image of eternity!

Sun and moon and stars shine o'er thee,
See thy surface ebb and flow,
Yet attempt not to explore thee
In thy soundless depths below.

Whether morning's splendors steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace,
Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee,
'Tis but for a moment's space.

Earth, -- her valleys and her mountains,
Mortal man's behests obey;
The unfathomable fountains
Scoff his search and scorn his sway.

Such art thou, stupdendous ocean!
But, if overwhelmed by thee,
Can we think, without emotion,
What must thy Creator be?

Bernard Barton

[Dark Muse]

Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
by Emily Dickinson

Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in Thee!

[Dark Muse]

The Sailor's Consolation

ONE night came on a hurricane,
The sea was mountains rolling,
When Barney Buntline turned his quid,
And said to Billy Bowling:
"A strong nor-wester's blowing, Bill;
Hark! don't ye hear it roar, now?
Lord help 'em, how I pities them
Unhappy folks on shore now!

"Foolhardy chaps who live in towns,
What danger they are all in,
And now lie quaking in their beds,
For fear the roof should fall in;
Poor creatures! how they envies us,
And wishes, I've a notion,
For our good luck, in such a storm,
To be upon the ocean!

"And as for them who're out all day
On business from their houses,
And late at night are coming home,
To cheer their babes and spouses,--
While you and I, Bill, on the deck
Are comfortably lying,
My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots
About their heads are flying!

"And very often have we heard
How men are killed and undone
By overturns of carriages,
By thieves, and fires in London;
We know what risks all landsmen run,
From noblemen to tailors;
Then, Bill, let us thank Providence
That you and I are sailors."

Charles Dibdin

[Dark Muse]

Sun and Shadow

As I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green,
To the billows of foam-crested blue,
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen,
Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue:
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray
As the chaff in the stroke of the flail;
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way,
The sun gleaming bright on her sail.

Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun,--
Of breakers that whiten and roar;
How little he cares, if in shadow or sun
They see him who gaze from the shore!
He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef,
To the rock that is under his lee,
As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf,
O'er the gulfs of the desolate sea.

Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves
Where life and its ventures are laid,
The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves
May see us in sunshine or shade;
Yet true to our course, though the shadows grow dark,
We'll trim our broad sail as before,
And stand by the rudder that governs the bark,
Nor ask how we look from the shore!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

[quasimodo1]

The Song of the Wreck



The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
A hundred human creatures saved
Kneel’d down upon the sand.
Three-score were drown’d, three-score were thrown
Upon the black rocks wild,
And thus among them, left alone,
They found one helpless child.


A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
Stood out from all the rest,
And gently laid the lonely head
Upon his honest breast.
And travelling o’er the desert wide
It was a solemn joy,
To see them, ever side by side,
The sailor and the boy.


In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst,
The two were still but one,
Until the strong man droop’d the first
And felt his labours done.
Then to a trusty friend he spake,
“Across the desert wide,
O take this poor boy for my sake!”
And kiss’d the child and died.


Toiling along in weary plight
Through heavy jungle, mire,
These two came later every night
To warm them at the fire.
Until the captain said one day,
“O seaman good and kind,
To save thyself now come away,
And leave the boy behind!”


The child was slumbering near the blaze:
“O captain, let him rest
Until it sinks, when God’s own ways
Shall teach us what is best!”
They watch’d the whiten’d ashy heap,
They touch’d the child in vain;
They did not leave him there asleep,
He never woke again.

[Isagel]

One for your collection

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).

Oh, and perhaps you might like to listen to La Mer, by Debussy? Seems a fitting companion to this.

[Dark Muse]

I will have to look into that one

[Dark Muse]

The Far-Farers

The broad sun,
The bright day:
White sails
On the blue bay:
The far-farers
Draw away.

Light the fires
And close the door.
To the old homes,
To the loved shore,
The far-farers
Return no more.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

[jinjang]

Kim Hyon-Sung (1913-1976)
THE WAVES

I wonder
Who has poured here again
Wine upon wine.

The earth dances in the midst
Of sparkling waves - a glassful of ocean.

I wonder
Who has poured out here
So many breasts
Words tossed up high like a ship
Borne on the snake back of writhing thoughts
Forever restless while asleep.
Who has poured out here
So many breasts onto the ocean?

.....
The sealine is drawn far out
Over the darkening city the sick land.
Who is driving toward us the fleet
Of those wild, joyous beasts?

I wonder
Who has burst open
Those blossoms on the face of death.

Between ice and fire,
Between eternity and a ticking moment
The fragrance of lilac waves sinks
In the deep furrows of death.

What has caused to blossom
Those flowers of July waves?

[Nick Capozzoli]

The OP referred to ballads of the sea, but subsequent posts cited poems that are not technically ballads. I'll submit two more non-ballads that I like on the subject of seafaring. The first is Pound's adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon Seafarer. I won't quote it because it's long and readily available.

The second is Frank O'Hara's To the Harbormaster:

I wanted to reach you;
though my ship was on the way it got caught
in some moorings. I am always tying up
and then deciding to depart. In storms and
at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide
around my fathomless arms, I am unable
to understand the forms of my vanity
or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder
in my hand and the sun sinking. To
you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. The terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.

[Dark Muse]

Yes, I did not necessarily mean ballads in a literal since, it just seemed like a catchy title for this thread. It is a dedication to all forms of poetry about the sea life and seafaring adventures.

[jinjang]

THE REASON OF THE SEA

At first
it rushed in a deep green volume
and fell.
The water tried to get on its feet,
breaking into a thousand writhings,
only to fall again.
The sea of self-abandonment
falls by its own despair.
Writhing in countless deaths,
writhing in countless resurrections,
the water tried to rise
only to fall like a merciless head.
Though it rises again
by its own futility
and falls in order to rise
the water is falling
as if parched with thirst.

-------------------

[Dark Muse]

O Captain! My Captain!


O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

[Dark Muse]

A Ballad of John Silver

We were schooner-rigged and rakish,
with a long and lissome hull,
And we flew the pretty colours of the crossbones and the skull;
We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,
And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.

We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship,
We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip;
It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,
But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.

Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains,
And the paint-work all was spatter dashed with other peoples brains,
She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank.
And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.

O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop)
We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken coop;
Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little else to do
Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.

O! the fiddle on the fo'c'sle, and the slapping naked soles,
And the genial "Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!"
With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead,
And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.

Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played,
All have since been put a stop to by the naughty Board of Trade;
The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest,
A little south the sunset in the islands of the Blest.

John Masefield

[Paulclem]

I'll know were to come if I want some poetry on a theme. Its a great idea.Thanks Dark Muse.

Pirate convention?

[Rosalind]

The contemporary poet Sonya Taffe writes a lot about the sea and the mythology around it. Her poems might not strictly count as ballads, but a lot of them certainly draw from the tradition.

(A lot of her poems are available online, but I'm not sure it's okay copyright-wise to paste them here.)

[Dark Muse]

I'll know were to come if I want some poetry on a theme. Its a great idea.Thanks Dark Muse.

Hehe thank you, there is something appelaing to me about the whole life style of the sea, particuarly from back in the day. And I do love Pirates!

[Dark Muse]

The contemporary poet Sonya Taffe writes a lot about the sea and the mythology around it. Her poems might not strictly count as ballads, but a lot of them certainly draw from the tradition.

(A lot of her poems are available online, but I'm not sure it's okay copyright-wise to paste them here.)

Sounds interesting, I haven't heard of her, I will have to look it up sometime, and not everything posted here is strictly a ballad.

[Lady Otter]

Since "Wild Nights" and "Sea Fever" are already here, I'll add this one. Don't necessarily agree with it, but it makes me smile:

Halcyon Days

How pleasant to sit on the beach,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun,
With ocean galore within reach,
And nothing at all to be done!
No letters to answer,
No bills to be burned,
No work to be shirked,
No cash to be earned,
It is pleasant to sit on the beach
With nothing at all to be done!

How pleasant to look at the ocean,
Democratic and damp; indiscriminate;
It fills me with noble emotion
To think I am able to swim in it.
To lave in the wave,
Majestic and chilly,
Tomorrow I crave;
But today it is silly.
It is pleasant to look at the ocean;
Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall swim in it.
How pleasant to gaze at the sailors.
As their sailboats they manfully sail
With the vigor of Vikings and whalers
In the days of the Vikings and whale.
They sport on the brink
Of the shad and the shark;
If its windy they sink;
If it isn't, they park.
It is pleasant to gaze at the sailors,
To gaze without having to sail.

How pleasant the salt anesthetic
Of the air and the sand and the sun;
Leave the earth to the strong and athletic,
And the sea to adventure upon.
But the sun and the sand
No contractor can copy;
We lie in the land Of the lotus and poppy;
We vegetate, calm and aesthetic,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun.

Ogden Nash

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pretty-halcyon-days/

[Dark Muse]

The Evening Darkens Over

THE evening darkens over
After a day so bright,
The windcapt waves discover
That wild will be the night.
There's sound of distant thunder.

The latest sea-birds hover
Along the cliff's sheer height;
As in the memory wander
Last flutterings of delight,
White wings lost on the white.

There's not a ship in sight;
And as the sun goes under,
Thick clouds conspire to cover
The moon that should rise yonder.
Thou art alone, fond lover.

Robert Bridges

[hellsapoppin]

The Belle of Amherst also had an experience with the sea:



By The Sea

I started early, took my dog,
And visited the sea;
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me.

And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands,
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands.

But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe,
And past my apron and my belt,
And past my bodice too,

And made as he would eat me up
As wholly as a dew
Upon a dandelion's sleeve -
And then I started too.

And he - he followed close behind;
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, - then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl.

Until we met the solid town,
No man he seemed to know;
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew.

Emily Dickinson



http://www.sheilaomalley.com/archives/emily-dickinson.gif

[Dark Muse]

A Wanderer's Song

A WIND'S in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.

Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street,
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,
Oh I'l be going, going, until I meet the tide.

And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.

Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,
For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels.

John Masefield

[Nick Capozzoli]

The Belle of Amherst also had an experience with the sea:...
...
And he - he followed close behind;
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, - then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl...

Emily Dickinson

http://www.sheilaomalley.com/archives/emily-dickinson.gif

Thanks for citing this fine poem. For some reason it made me
think of Ariel's song from The Tempest:

Full fathom five they father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea nymphs hourly toll his knell:

Burden. Ding-dong

Hark! Now I hear them-Ding-dong bell.

The "Belle" of Amhurst probably had this
passage in mind...

Nick

[Dark Muse]

This one makes me think of Where the Wild Things Are

A Little Boy's Dream

To and fro, to and fro
In my little boat I go
Sailing far across the sea
All alone, just little me.
And the sea is big and strong
And the journey very long.
To and fro, to and fro
In my little boat I go.

Sea and sky, sea and sky,
Quietly on the deck I lie,
Having just a little rest.
I have really done my best
In an awful pirate fight,
But we cdaptured them all right.
Sea and sky, sea and sky,
Quietly on the deck I lie--

Far away, far away
From my home and from my play,
On a journey without end
Only with the sea for friend
And the fishes in the sea.
But they swim away from me
Far away, far away
From my home and from my play.

Then he cried "O Mother dear."
And he woke and sat upright,
They were in the rocking chair,
Mother's arms around him--tight.

Katherine Mansfield

[sulunhop]

I like: A CAPITAL ship for an ocean trip
Was The Walloping Window-blind --
No gale that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain's mind.
The man at the wheel was taught to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow,
And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,
That he'd been in his bunk below.
The boatswain's mate was very sedate,
Yet fond of amusement, too;
And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,
While the captain tickled the crew..........
______________________
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[Dark Muse]

With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh by William Wordsworth.

With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly vessel did I then espy
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
The ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a lover's look;
This ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
On went she, and due north her journey took

[Dark Muse]

Sea Fever

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

[Paulclem]

A great poem.

[Dark Muse]

I really like John Masefield

[Dinkleberry2010]

Sea Fever, along with Trees by Joyce Kilmer, was my introduction to poetry. I was probably ten years old when I first read them (and had to memorize them as part of school work), and I have a soft spot in my heart for them. They may not be great poems, but to me they resonate, and I can still recite them word for word.

[Dark Muse]

Sea Fever is acutally by John Masefield

While ther Internet can be mistaken and miscrdeit things, here are seveal different soruces which back this fact up.

http://www.bartleby.com/103/98.html

http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/14195-John-Masefield-Sea-Fever

http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides5/SeaFever.html

http://theotherpages.org/poems/masef01.html

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/john_masefield

[Dinkleberry2010]

It's interesting how poets can become identified with one poem only. John Masefield is an example; so is Alfred Joyce Kilmer. Masefield wrote many poems, but Sea Fever seems to be the only poem in which he is associated. Alfred Joyce Kilmer was a prolific poet but Trees is the one poem for which he is known.

[Paulclem]

Sea Fever is acutally by John Masefield

While ther Internet can be mistaken and miscrdeit things, here are seveal different soruces which back this fact up.

http://www.bartleby.com/103/98.html

http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/14195-John-Masefield-Sea-Fever

http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides5/SeaFever.html

http://theotherpages.org/poems/masef01.html

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/john_masefield

I like the poems on the links you've provided. It's a great resource this thread.

[Dark Muse]

Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed.

[Dark Muse]

Sea Fever, along with Trees by Joyce Kilmer, was my introduction to poetry. I was probably ten years old when I first read them (and had to memorize them as part of school work), and I have a soft spot in my heart for them. They may not be great poems, but to me they resonate, and I can still recite them word for word.

LOL I am such an idot :eek2: I just now realized that I belive I have misread your post at first, and thought you were trying to attribute Sea Fever to Joyce Kilmer. :smash:

[Dark Muse]

Once the Pacific

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last 'Put out the Light' was spoken.

~Robert Frost

[RosyRosalind]

Wow, I absolutely love this thread! I love poems, but poems about the sea are my favorite! Thank you so much! :p

[Dark Muse]

Wild Nights! Wild Nights!

Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in Thee

~Emily Dickinson

[Dark Muse]

Break, Break, Break

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

~Tennyson

[PEACHWRITE]

Love this poem. rythmn & rhyme - excellent.

[Dark Muse]

Yes, I am a big fan of Tennyson

[northbeachfilms]

Wonderful. Thank you for starting a thread with "Ballads of the Sea."
I am taking an English Class and we are reading Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

It is a wonderful poem, and very descriptive of life at sea. I am reposting my class assignment here. It is a close reading of: Part One, Lines 20-60

You will find the entire poem here, and this is my source for the text:

http://www.enotes.com/rime-ancient-text/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner

Enjoy!

---

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (page 906)
A portion of this poem: Part 1, Lines 20-60

We have a wedding guest listening to an old sailor telling tales about the sea during a wedding ceremony. The first part describes the departure of a ship:

The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,

A crowd cheers the ship's departure from the port, as it sails out to sea, leaving the harbour behind.

Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the light-house top.

I particularly like this description of what it is like to head out to sea, as you watch the horizon change from land to water. "Merrily" because there is a freedom as you leave the constraints of land-life, or leave behind "land lubbers" who represent problems and alienation to many sailors. The seafaring life is peaceful, and carefree in some ways. Except you are faced with the power of nature. As you get farther from the shore it appears that you are dropping, as you watch the skyline vanish from sight. Obviously a church steeple sticks up high on the horizon, first you watch the steeple vanish, then the hills behind it, and finally a "light house top" that might be located at a very high point on a piece of land that juts out from the coastline.

The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

(The Mariner tells how
the ship sailed southward
with a good wind
and fair weather, till it
reached the Line.)

Now there is water all around with no land in sight. It is stunning to watch the sun rise out of the ocean in the morning--- and set into the ocean at the end of the day. This description speaks of it, and ads that the sun sets "on the right" -- meaning not straight across, as they are approaching the line of the equator. The sun is described as "He", this expresses that individual components of nature posses their own traits and individuality. "It" can be ignored, but when referred to as"He" is a force to be reckoned with.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon-

And when they reach the line the sun is directly overhead at noon.

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,(30)
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

(The Wedding-
Guest heareth the
bridal music; but the
Mariner continueth his tale.)

The wedding goes on. The bride walks down the aisle as the band plays, and the guests participate, but the mariner keeps talking.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The wedding guest he beat his breast" is a signal that the guest is faux coughing to try and interrupt the old sailor in order to attend the wedding festivities. "Spake on that ancient man"-- meaning the Mariner would not interrupt his story and chatted on.

The wedding guest and the old mariner are wrapped up in their storytelling and do not participate in the festivities of the wedding that are going on around them. So the story goes on.

And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased south along.

(The ship drawn by
a storm toward the
South Pole.)

Well, obviously the ship has encountered a ferocious storm that pushes them southward. "He struck with o'ertaking wings" refers to the force of the winds and currents that take control of the ship's direction. When a ship enters a storm it must ride it out, and wait for better weather, before it can direct its own course. These "o'ertaking wings" also speaks of the dark forces of the storm, and addresses the fear of death, as this deathlike image seems to hover above them. Storms can be terrifying when at sea and they cause many a shipwrecks with loss of life. Again the natural force is identified as "He" to remind us of the force of nature as a powerful being.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

This goes on to describe the incredible force of this storm in more detail, as it applies to the ship and the perspective of the sailor. Loud winds and the idea of death's wings pushing the ship further and further south as the ship tries to escape this great force of nature. The "sloping mast" refers to the ship rocking dramatically back and forth. If you are standing on deck for example, as you attempt to remain upright with the force of gravity, the mast seems to bend to and fro---as the "prow" dips. Basically you just hang on and wait.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

They are approaching the South Pole and it is growing cold. They pass an iceberg that is equal in height to the mast of their ship. The bright white of the ice reflecting the water and the sky-- giving it a greenish blue tint like an Atocha emerald.

[image of an iceberg can be found here]
http://afishblog.com/wp-admin/images/striped%20iceberg.jpg

[Dark Muse]

Immigrants

No ship of all that under sail or steam
Have gathered people to us more and more
But Pilgrim-manned the Mayflower in a dream
Has been her anxious convoy in to shore.

~Robert Frost

[Dark Muse]

A Ballad of John Silver

We were schooner-rigged and rakish,
with a long and lissome hull,
And we flew the pretty colours of the crossbones and the skull;
We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,
And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.

We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship,
We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip;
It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,
But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.

Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains,
And the paint-work all was spatter dashed with other peoples brains,
She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank.
And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.

O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop)
We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken coop;
Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little else to do
Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.

O! the fiddle on the fo'c'sle, and the slapping naked soles,
And the genial "Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!"
With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead,
And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.

Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played,
All have since been put a stop to by the naughty Board of Trade;
The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest,
A little south the sunset in the islands of the Blest.

~John Masefield

[Silas Thorne]

This is a great thread. :) I read and enjoyed this one recently:

'Christmas at Sea' by Robert Louis Stevenson.

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:
So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call.
"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.
. . . "It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

Literature Network » Robert Louis Stevenson » Ballads » Christmas At Sea

[phillipgr]

from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Byron

XI.

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
And long had fed his youthful appetite;
His goblets brimmed with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite,
Without a sigh he left to cross the brine,
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth’s central line.

XII.

The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew
As glad to waft him from his native home;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
And soon were lost in circumambient foam;
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he, but in his bosom slept
The silent thought, nor from his lips did come
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea,
He seized his harp, which he at times could string,
And strike, albeit with untaught melody,
When deemed he no strange ear was listening:
And now his fingers o’er it he did fling,
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight,
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,
And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements he poured his last ‘Good Night.’

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My Native Land - Good Night!

A few short hours, and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall,
My dog howls at the gate.

‘Come hither, hither, my little page:
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billow’s rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye,
Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.’

‘Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee - and One above.

‘My father blessed me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.’ -
‘Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.

‘Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman,
Or shiver at the gale?’ -
‘Deem’st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I’m not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.

‘My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake;
And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?’ -
‘Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.’

For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o’er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.

And now I’m in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again
He’d tear me where he stands.

With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My Native Land - Good Night!

XIV.

On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,
And winds are rude in Biscay’s sleepless bay.
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
New shores descried make every bosom gay;
And Cintra’s mountain greets them on their way,
And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay;
And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap,
And steer ’twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap.

[phillipgr]

from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto IV


CLXXIX.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control
Stops with the shore; - upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

CLXXX.

His steps are not upon thy paths, - thy fields
Are not a spoil for him, - thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: - there let him lay.

CLXXXI.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals.
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

CLXXXII.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee -
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters washed them power while they were free
And many a tyrant since: their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play -
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow -
Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

CLXXXIII.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed - in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving; - boundless, endless, and sublime -
The image of Eternity - the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

[phillipgr]

I quickly scanned the posted but forgive me if this has already been posted.

Crossing the Bar by Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

[phillipgr]

It's been posted already (naturally, considering its brilliance), but you cannot go by the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, it is one of my favorite poems period.

[hallaig]

Interesting you should cite Allan Cunningham, DM, who was born a mile away from where I'm sitting now and wasn't in spite of what you might think English but a Scot. I know you're very interested in the Celtic nations and am currently reading the most brilliant history of the Celtic nations in context, 'The Sea Kingdoms' by Alistair Moffat. It is a work of huge interest and no small brilliance.

In this book Moffat cites, in translation from the Gaelic, what must be one of the earliest sea poems, perhaps the best, 'The Birlinn of Clanranald' by Alasdair macMhaighstir. Here's a bit of it:

The sun bursting golden yellow
from his cloud husk;
then the sky grew tawny, smokey,
full of gloom.
It waxed wave-blue, thick, buff-speckled,
dun and troubled;
every colour of the tartan
marked the heavens.
A rainbow is seen to westward-
stormy pressage;
flying clouds by strong winds riven,
squally showers.

[Dark Muse]

Immigrants

No ship of all that under sail or steam
Have gathered people to us more and more
But Pilgrim-manned the Mayflower in a dream
Has been her anxious convoy in to shore.

~Robert Frost

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

I've read enough Victor Hugo to realize he had an affinity toward the sea, but I had not read his poetry. Last night I was curious to find out if Hugo had written any poetry regarding the sea.
I discovered Oceano Nox
Here it is in english, which I'm sure does not do the original French justice...

"How many captains and their sailors went
Blithely toward some distant continent
Beyond this bleak horizon, and were lost!
How many vanished-a cruel destiny!-
One moonless night in some unfathomed sea,
In whose blind depths forever they are tossed!

How many skippers perished with their crew!
Across the surge some blast of tempest blew,
And their lives’ pages all were scattered then.
Plunged in the chasm-who will know their fate?
Each passing wave seized some part of the freight,
And this one took the skiff, and that the men.

No one can tell their doom, the poor lost heads
Rolling across those somber ocean beds,
Beating their dead brows in the unknown black.
How many parents, with one dream left, died
Awaiting daily at the harbor’s side
Those who did not come back!

At night people talk of you sometimes here,
Sitting in joyous groups on rusty gear;
Still, now and then, your shadowy names succeed
The songs and laughs and tales of foreign tides
And kisses stolen from your promised brides
While you are sleeping in the salt green weed.

“Why has so-and-so left us all this while?
Could he be king in some prosperous isle?”
But then your memory vanishes away.
Bodies decay in seas, and names in minds.
Time adds to shadows shades of darker kinds:
Somber oblivion bends with somber spray.

Soon, from the eyes of all, your shade has passed.
One has a plow to tend, and one a mast.
Only, at night, when conquering tempests roll,
Your white-browed widows, weary from the waiting,
Still name you, stirring ash within the grating
Of their hearth and their soul.

And when the grave has shut their eyelids too,
Not even a stone remains to speak of you
Within the narrowing echoing cemetery,
Not even a willow dropping foliage,
Not even a beggar on some ancient bridge
Singing a drab and simple melody.

Where are the sailors swallowed by dark sea?
Waves feared by every mother on her knees,
Deep waves, what tales you could recite!
You tell them to us when you climb our shores,
And that is why you utter such wild roars
When you are coming to verge at night."


Here's another seafaring ballad for the younger crew including an illustration by Charles Folkard:
(click on the image to read)

http://i963.photobucket.com/albums/ae114/tabuka1/Misc%20Album/th_IMGP2331.jpg (http://s963.photobucket.com/albums/ae114/tabuka1/Misc%20Album/?action=view&current=IMGP2331.jpg)


The photo is from a family book of nursey rhymes and fairy tales. The cover, copyright pages have long since dissapeared, so I'm not able to identify the book.

.

[PoeticPassions]

One of my favorite poems, and yet a poem that is rarely ever noted or analyzed is Alexander Pushkin's 'To the Sea' (perhaps it loses much in translation, but here goes anyway):

TO THE SEA

Farewell to you, unharnessed Ocean!
No longer will you roll at me
Your azure swells in endless motion
Or gleam in tranquil majesty.

A comrade's broken words on leaving,
His hail of parting at the door:
Your chant of luring, chant of grieving
Will murmur in my ears no more.

Oh, homeland of my spirit's choosing!
How often on your banks at large
I wandered mute and dimly musing,
Fraught with a sacred, troubling charge!

How I would love your deep resounding,
The primal chasm's muffled voice,
How in your vesper calm rejoice,
And in your sudden, reckless bounding!

The fisher's lowly canvas slips,
By your capricious favor sheltered,
Undaunted down your breakers' lips:
Yet by your titan romps have weltered
And foundered droves of masted ships.

Alas, Fate thwarted me from weighing
My anchor off the cloddish shore,
Exultantly your realm surveying,
And by your drifting ridges laying
My poet's course forevermore.

You waited, called... I was in irons,
And vainly did my soul rebel,
Becalmed in those uncouth environs
By passion's overpowering spell.

Yet why this sorrow? Toward what fastness
Would now my carefree sails be spread?
To one lone goal in all your vastness
My spirit might have gladly sped.

One lonely cliff, the tomb of glory...
There chilling slumber fell upon
The ghost of mankind's proudest story:
There breathed his last Napoleon.

There rest for suffering he bartered;
And, gale-borne in his wake, there streams
Another kingly spirit martyred,
Another regent of our dreams.

He passed, and left to Freedom mourning,
His laurels to Eternity.
Arise, roar out in stormy warning:
He was your own true bard, oh Sea!

His soul was by your spirit haunted,
In your own image was he framed:
Like you immense, profound, undaunted,
Like you nocturnal untamed.

Bereft the world... where by your power,
Oh Sea would you now carry me?
Life offers everywhere one dower:
On any glint of bliss there glower
Enlightenment or tyranny.

Farewell then, Sea! Henceforth in wonder
Your regal grace will I rever;
Long will your muffled twilit thunder
Reverberate within my ear.

To woods and silent wildernesses
Will I translate your potent spells,
Your cliffs, your coves, your shining tresses,
Your shadows and your murmurous swells.

[cafolini]

The wonder of this poet at max. I don't know Russian, so I cannot tell much about the translation, but it certainly expresses this poet's ability to let himself be carried to all shores by the sea of vastness. Very meaningful to me.

[jajdude]

Oh what a great thread. I just discovered this Muse. I had to include this as I am a Newfoundlander.

I will read it all soon.



"Squid Jiggin' Ground"


Oh this is the place where the fishermen gather

Oil-skins and boots and the Cape hands batten down;

All sizes of figures with squid lines and jiggers,

They congregate here on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


Some are workin' their jiggers, while others are yarnin',

There's some standin' up and there's more lyin' down;

While all kinds of fun, jokes and drinks are begun,

As they wait for the squid on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


There's men of all ages and boys in the bargain,

There's old Billy Cave and there's young Raymond Brown;

There's Rip, Red and Gory out here in the dory,

A runnin' down squires on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


There's men from the harbor, there's men from the tickle,

And all kinds of motor-boats, green, gray and brown;

Right yonder is Bobby and with him is Nobby,

He's chawin' hard tack on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


God bless my soul, list to, there's Skipper John Champy,

He's the best hand at squid jiggin' here, I'll be bound;

Hello, what's the row? Why he's jiggin' one now,

The very first squid on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.




The man with the whiskers is old Jacob Steele,

He's gettin' well on, but he's still pretty sound;

While Uncle Bob Hockins wears six pairs of stockin's

Whenever he's out on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


Holy Smoke! What a scuffle! All hands are excited,

It's a wonder to me that there's nobody drowned;

There's a bustle, confusion, the wonderful hustle,

They're all jiggin' squid on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


Says Barney, "The squids are on top of the water,

I just felt me jiggers jig five fathoms down

But a squid in the boat squirted right down his throat,

Now he's swearin'like mad on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


There's poor Uncle Louie, his whiskers are spattered

With spots of the squid juice that's flyin' around;

One poor little guy got it right in the eye,

But they don't give a darn on the Squid Jiggin' Ground.


Now, if you ever feel inclined to go squiddin',

Leave your white clothes behind in the town;

And if you get cranky without your silk hanky,

You'd better steer clear of the Squid Jiggin' Ground

[jajdude]

Oh, the author of that was Art Scammel (spelling?) at the age of 15.

[missmeadowsweet]

I don't know if anyone mentioned this since I haven't read every post in this thread, but Sir Patrick Spens (sometimes spelled Spence) is a wonderful ballad of the sea. I don't have the text on hand right now to post otherwise I would. It's about gallant Sir Patrick Spens who answers the King's summons to sail on a treacherous sea to bring the king's daughter home. It's a tragic Scottish ballad. The bit of Scottish language in it really makes it wonderful.

[Dark Muse]

The Wind Blew Shrill and Smart

The wind blew shrill and smart,
And the wind awoke my heart
Again to go a-sailing o'er the sea,
To hear the cordage moan
And the straining timbers groan,
And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.

O sailor of the fleet,
It is time to stir the feet!
It's time to man the dingy and to row!
It's lay your hand in mine
And it's empty down the wine,
And it's drain a health to death before we go!

To death, my lads, we sail;
And it's death that blows the gale
And death that holds the tiller as we ride.
For he's the king of all
In the tempest and the squall,
And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!

~Robert Louis Stevonson