Classic Poem

I

Once more, as on a mustang free,
I ride upon the dark blue wave;
Once more I hear the monsoon rave,
As stand we down the China Sea.

To right, to left, before, behind,
No land is seen, no sail in sight;
By day the sun, the moon by night,
Our comrades are, and the swift wind.

Blow — blow — thou busy gale, whose wings
In the far north began their flight;
Thou bearest me on to sun-lands bright,
To those rich isles Camoens sings,

To strange Siam, to Borneo's beach,
To that fair channel at whose door,
Embowered in palms, sits Singapore,
On — on — till India's strand we reach!

2

Now, as we approach the invisible Line
Which from that other hemisphere
Divides our own, each night more clear,
The Southern Cross begins to shine.

O constellation beautiful!
Symbol thou, in celestial air,
Of burden that each life must bear,
With poignant pain, or sorrow dull.

O constellation beautiful!
I see thee shining golden-fair,
And golden grows the cross I bear,
With poignant pain, or sorrow dull.

For, like an angel looking down
Upon this ocean where we toss,
Thou teachest that without the cross
Comes never the triumphal crown.

3

Penang, how does this tropic scene,
Through which my lingering feet now stray,
Remind me of my boyhood's day,
And hours fantastic which have been.

When, tranced by travelers' tales, I sat,
And saw a mountain-side like this,
With equatorial trees which kiss
Above a waterfall like that.

Here reigns, O bright Malayan land,
Summer throughout the circling year;
Here comes nor ice, nor snowstorm; here
The palms in beauty ever stand;

Here swings the monkey from the tree;
Here in the wood the peacock stalks;
Here garrulously the parrot talks;
Here builds the swallow by the sea!

4

Home of the shaggy cocoa-nut,
The durion and the mangosteen,
How fair thy flora spreads — bright-green,
And dotted with the mountain hut!

Now in thy forests deep I stand,
Where grows the gutta-percha tree,
Whence come sapan and ebony
And eagle-wood for many a land.

Now through plantations broad I ride
Of coffee-bush and sugar-cane,
Till day's bright hours begin to wane,
And night stalks o'er the mountain-side.

Home of that tufted palm-tree tall,
Whose shaggy nut hangs o'er our heads,
How fair thy flora round me spreads —
Bright-green, luxuriant, tropical!

5

Farewell, Penang! The vessel's head
Points westward o'er the Indian Sea;
The sun beats down right lustily;
The awnings o'er the deck are spread.

In couch-like chairs of light bamboo,
On games or novels bent, we sit:
Or idly watch the sea-bird flit
Above the indigotic blue.

We rise each morning with the sun,
And in the ocean-water lave,
Dipped freshly from the cooling wave,
As on our course we swiftly run.

We drink the fragrant tea; we sip
The sherbet cold as winter's snow;
While mangosteen and pomolo
Tempt, with their juice, the grateful lip.

6

Nor gale, nor calm, our ship alarms,
We share her strength and naught we fear,
Ever her mighty pulse we hear,
Beating through iron-muscled arms.

We watch the sturdy captain stand,
Sextant to eye, and sight the sun;
Or crimson-turbaned Lascars run
Aloft, with nimble foot and hand.

And when descends the balmy night,
And o'er the deck the moonlight falls,
Music some tender past recalls,
Or fills the future with delight.

Come tropic calm, or breezes free,
Come waters smooth, or waves which heave,
Like arrow in its flight we cleave
The circle of the dark-blue sea.