POETRY.
SEAFARERS.
THE traders that hail from the Clyde, And the whalers that sail from Dundee, Put forth in their season on top of the tide To gather the grist of the sea, To ply in the lanes of the sea.
By fairway and channel and sound, By shoal and deep water they go, Guessing the course by the feel of the ground, Or chasing the drift of the floe,- Nor'-west, in the track of the floe.
And we steer them to harbour afar, At hazard we win them abroad, Where the coral is furrowed by keels on the bar, And the sea-floor is swept by the Lord, The anchorage dredged by the Lord.
To the placid, palm-skirted bayou, To coasts that are drear and forlorn, We follow the courses the admirals drew In the days when they doubled the Horn, When Drake lost a month off the Horn.
And what of the cargo ye bring For the venture ye bore overseas ?
What of the treasure ye put forth to wring From the chances of billow and breeze, In spite of the billow and breeze ?
Oh, we carry the keys of the earth, And the password of Empire we bear !
Wherever the beaches held promise of worth We 'stablished your sovereignty there, We planted your flag over there.
And the guerdon for blood ye have shed ? The glory that haloes your name ?
Oh, a grave where the dipsy is dim overhead, And the aftermath tribute of fame, A chip from the flotsam of fame.
PERCEVAL GIBBON.
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