Ballads of Lost Haven Part 9

There are legends of Lost Haven, Come, I know not whence, to me, When the wind is in the clover, When the sun is on the sea.

There are rumors in the pine-tops, There are whispers in the gra.s.s; And the flocking crows at nightfall Bring home hints of things that pa.s.s

Out upon the broad dike yonder, All day long beneath the sun, Where the tall s.h.i.+ps cloud and settle Down the sea-curve, one by one.

And the crickets in fine chorus-- Every slim and tiny reed-- Strive to chord the broken rhythmus Of the world, and half succeed.

There are myriad traditions Treasured by the talking rain; And with memories the moonlight Walks the cold and silent plain.

Where the river tells his hill-tales To the lone complaining bar, Where the midgets thread their dances To the yellow twilight star,

Where the blossom bends to hearken To the bee with velvet bands, There are chronicles enciphered Of the yet uncharted lands.

All the musical marauders Of the berry and the bloom Sing the lure of soul's illusion Out of darkness, out of doom.

But the sure and great evangel Comes when half alone I hear, At the rosy door of silence, Love, the lord of speech, draw near.

Then for once across the threshold, Darkling spirit, thou art free,-- As thy hope is every s.h.i.+p makes Some lost haven of the sea.

THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN

Don't you know the sailing orders?

It is time to put to sea, And the stranger in the harbor Sends a boat ash.o.r.e for me.

With the thunder of her canvas Coming on the wind again, I can hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men.

Is it firelight or morning, That red flicker on the floor?

Your good-by was braver, sweetheart, When I sailed away before.

Think of this last lovely summer!

Love, what ails the wind to-night?

What's he saying in the chimney Turns your berry cheek so white?

What a morning! How the sunlight Sparkles on the outer bay, Where the brig lies waiting for me To trip anchor and away!

That's the Doomkeel. You may know her By her clean run aft; and, then, Don't you hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men?

Off the freshening sea to windward, Is it a white tern I hear Shrilling in the gusty weather Where the far sea-line is clear?

What a morning for departure!

How your blue eyes melt and s.h.i.+ne!

Will you watch us from the headland Till we sink below the line?

I can see the wind already Steer the scurf marks of the tide, As we slip the wake of being Down the sloping world and wide.

I can feel the vasty mountains Heave and settle under me, And the Doomkeel veer and shudder, Crumbling on the hollow sea.

There's a call, as when a white gull Cries and beats across the blue; That must be the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow crew.

There's a boding sound, like winter When the pines begin to quail; That must be the gray wind moaning In the belly of the sail.

I can feel the icy fingers Creeping in upon my bones; There must be a berg to windward Somewhere in these border zones.

Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,-- Always loved my s.h.i.+pmate sun.

How the sunflowers beckon to me From the dooryard one by one!

How the royal lady roses Strew this summer world of ours!

There'll be none in Lonely Haven; It is too far north for flowers.

There, sweetheart! And I must leave you.

What should touch my wife with tears?

There's no danger with the Master; He has sailed the sea for years.

With the sea-wolves on her quarter, And a white bone in her teeth, He will steer the shadow cruiser, Dark before and doom beneath,

Down the last expanse, till morning Flares above the broken sea, And the midnight storm is over, And the Isles are close alee.

So some twilight, when your roses Are all blown and it is June, You will turn your blue eyes seaward Through the white dusk of the moon,

Wondering, as that far sea-cry Comes upon the wind again, And you hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men.

THE MASTER OF THE ISLES

There is rumor in Dark Harbor, And the folk are all astir; For a stranger in the offing Draws them down to gaze at her,

In the gray of early morning, Black against the orange streak, Making in below the ledges, With no colors at her peak.

Something makes their hearts uneasy As they watch the long black hull, For she brings the storm behind her While before her there is lull.

With no pilot and unspoken, Where the dancing breakers are, Presently she veers and races In across the roaring bar,--

Rounds and luffs and comes to anchor, While the wharf begins to throng.

Silence falls upon the women.

And misgiving stirs the strong.

Then with some obscure foreboding, As a gray-haired watcher smiles, They perceive the fearless captain Is the Master of the Isles.

They recall the bleak December Many streaming years ago, When the stranger had been sighted Driving sh.o.r.eward with the snow;

When the Master came among them With his calm and courtly pride, And had sailed away at sundown With pale Dora for his bride;

How again he came one summer When the herring schools were late, And had cleared before the morning With old Alec's son for mate.