3 The Ship -
Apollo.
And whence did that craft hail, sailor,
Of which you seem so fond?
Seaman.
It was some harbour of the East,
Back o' beyond, back o' beyond!
Apollo.
What shipwrights' hammers rang on her,
The stout ship and the leal?
In what green forest inlet lay
Her cradle and her keel?
Seaman.
I think some arm of the sea-gods
Framed us her stormy frame,
And ribbed and beamed and stanchioned her,
And gave her strength a name.
Never, Sir Traveller, have you seen
A sight the half as fine
As when she hove up from the East
On our horizon-line!
Apollo.
I have seen a dead god on the Nile
Paddled by tribes of bronze,
Under mud-built villages of palms
Glide, statelier than swans,
And Isis' frail moon-golden skiff
Restore him to that barque of life
Whose years are millions.
I have seen Jason and his men
Into bows of Argo piece
Oak of Dodona, ere she slid
To find the golden fleece:
Ay, and triremes of the marble isles
Pursue from Salamis.
I have seen master-galleys rise
Dipping in mass the oar,
And centaur-carven caravels,
And galleons big with ore,
Dromonds, and mountain'd argosies
That sack the globe no more:
Great sails, like yellow weeping clouds,
Heap'd thunder, roaring squall —
And their fadings, like the fleet of stars
That floateth over all.
Seaman.
Well — ask all navies such as these —
Was she not more divine
Who, challenged by Death's muffled drums,
Gave Death the countersign?
Ah, to serve on her in time of war!
It set aflame your blood
To feel her in the slack of peace
Come booming up the flood.
Thousands of wings about her bows
As she cast away the deep,
The morning star swung from a spar
And every sail asleep.
Her masts! Land-locked and shut away.
From the sea-winds' seud and psalm,
Her masts, they trembled in a leash —
You laid on them your palm —
They quivered over with great life
That never could be calm.
No frothings in your purple wake
On the lone path to the pole
White as the spread of sail on her
That lent wings to your soul —
Apollo.
What was her build, that boat of yours
So proud upon the sea?
What was her make of hull and deck,
What suit of sails had she?
Seaman.
Her stretch of sail so white, so white,
By no man's hand unfurled.
Was Heaven!
Apollo.
And the decks you kept so bright?
Seaman.
For us, this bustling World.
Apollo.
And the hold and cockpit out of sight,
Pitch dark and ill to smell,
Full of the friends of your delight?
Seaman.
That was the pit of Hell!
And whence did that craft hail, sailor,
Of which you seem so fond?
Seaman.
It was some harbour of the East,
Back o' beyond, back o' beyond!
Apollo.
What shipwrights' hammers rang on her,
The stout ship and the leal?
In what green forest inlet lay
Her cradle and her keel?
Seaman.
I think some arm of the sea-gods
Framed us her stormy frame,
And ribbed and beamed and stanchioned her,
And gave her strength a name.
Never, Sir Traveller, have you seen
A sight the half as fine
As when she hove up from the East
On our horizon-line!
Apollo.
I have seen a dead god on the Nile
Paddled by tribes of bronze,
Under mud-built villages of palms
Glide, statelier than swans,
And Isis' frail moon-golden skiff
Restore him to that barque of life
Whose years are millions.
I have seen Jason and his men
Into bows of Argo piece
Oak of Dodona, ere she slid
To find the golden fleece:
Ay, and triremes of the marble isles
Pursue from Salamis.
I have seen master-galleys rise
Dipping in mass the oar,
And centaur-carven caravels,
And galleons big with ore,
Dromonds, and mountain'd argosies
That sack the globe no more:
Great sails, like yellow weeping clouds,
Heap'd thunder, roaring squall —
And their fadings, like the fleet of stars
That floateth over all.
Seaman.
Well — ask all navies such as these —
Was she not more divine
Who, challenged by Death's muffled drums,
Gave Death the countersign?
Ah, to serve on her in time of war!
It set aflame your blood
To feel her in the slack of peace
Come booming up the flood.
Thousands of wings about her bows
As she cast away the deep,
The morning star swung from a spar
And every sail asleep.
Her masts! Land-locked and shut away.
From the sea-winds' seud and psalm,
Her masts, they trembled in a leash —
You laid on them your palm —
They quivered over with great life
That never could be calm.
No frothings in your purple wake
On the lone path to the pole
White as the spread of sail on her
That lent wings to your soul —
Apollo.
What was her build, that boat of yours
So proud upon the sea?
What was her make of hull and deck,
What suit of sails had she?
Seaman.
Her stretch of sail so white, so white,
By no man's hand unfurled.
Was Heaven!
Apollo.
And the decks you kept so bright?
Seaman.
For us, this bustling World.
Apollo.
And the hold and cockpit out of sight,
Pitch dark and ill to smell,
Full of the friends of your delight?
Seaman.
That was the pit of Hell!
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