THE MERCHANTMEN
by Rudyard Kipling
King Solomon drew merchantmen
Because of his desire
For peacocks, apes, and ivory
From Tarshish unto Tyre:
And Drake he sacked La Guayra,
So stout of heart was he;
But we be only sailormen
That use upon the sea.
Coastwise—cross-seas—round the world and back again,
Where the flaw shall head us or the full trade suits!
Plain-sail—storm-sail—lay your board and tack again
And that’s the way we pay Paddy Doyle for his boots!
Now we have come to youward
To walk beneath the trees,
And see the folk that live on land
And ride in carriages.
Oh, sure they must be silly gulls
That do with pains desire
To build a house that cannot move
Of stones and sticks and mire.
We bring no store of ingots,
Of gold or precious stones,
But that we have we gathered
With sweat and aching bones:
In flame beneath the tropics,
In frost upon the floe,
And jeopardy of every wind
That does between them go.
And some we got by purchase,
And some we had by trade,
And some we took by courtesy
Of pike and carronade,
At midnight, ’mid sea meetings
For charity to keep,
And light the rolling homeward bound
That rode a foot too deep.
By sport of bitter weather
We’re walty, strained, and scarred
From the kentledge of the kelson
To the slings upon the yard.
Six oceans had their will of us
To carry all away -
Our galley’s in the Baltic,
And our boom’s in Mossel Bay!
We’ve floundered off the Texel,
Awash with sodden deals,
We’ve slipped from Valparaiso
With the Norther at our heels:
We’ve ratched beyond the Crossets
That tusk the Southern Pole,
And dipped our gunnels under
To the dread Agulhas’ roll.
Beyond all outer chartings
We sailed where none have sailed,
And saw the land-lights burning
On islands none have hailed.
Our hair stood up for wonder,
But when the night was done
There rolled the deep to windward
Blue-empty ’neath the sun!
Strange consorts rode beside us
And brought us evil luck;
The witch-fire climbed our channels,
And danced on vane and truck:
Till, through the red tornado,
That lashed us nigh to blind,
We saw The Dutchman plunging,
Full canvas, head to wind !
We’ve heard the Midnight Leadsman
That calls the black deeps down -
Ay, thrice we heard The Swimmer,
The soul that may not drown.
On frozen bunt and gasket
The sleet-cloud drave her hosts,
When, manned by more than signed with us,
We passed the Isle o’ Ghosts!
And north, among the hummocks,
A biscuit-toss below,
We met the silent shallop
That frighted whalers know;
For down a bitter ice-lane,
That opened as he sped,
We saw dead Henry Hudson
Steer, North by West, his dead.
So dealt God’s waters with us
Beneath the roaring skies,
So walked His signs and marvels
All naked to our eyes:
But we were heading homeward
With trade to lose or make
Good Lord, they slipped behind us
In the tailing of our wake!
Let go, let go the anchors;
Now shamed at heart are we
To bring so poor a cargo home
That had for gift the sea!
Let go - let go the anchors
Ah, fools were we and blind
The worst we saved with bitter toil,
The best we left behind!
Coastwise—cross-seas—round the world and back again,
Where the flaw shall fail us or the trades drive down:
Plain-sail—storm-sail—lay your board and tack again -
And all to bring a cargo into London Town!
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