To-day I give you but a song, He played; at first the tones were pure Such was the prelude to the tale With tones of sweetness or of fear, And one was spinning a sailor's yarn The Kobold of the sea; a spright Who o'er the rigging ran. Sometimes he hammered in the hold, Sometimes upon the mast, Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, Or at the bows he sang and laughed, And made all tight and fast. He helped the sailors at their work, And heave the anchor in. But woe unto the lazy louts, The idlers of the crew; Them to torment was his delight, And worry them by day and night, And pinch them black and blue. And woe to him whose mortal eyes It is a certain sign of death! II. THE jolly skipper paused awhile, And then again began; "There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, "A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, And is called the Carmilhan. "A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, In tempests she appears; And before the gale, or against the gale, She sails without a rag of sail, Without a helmsman steers. "She haunts the Atlantic north and south, But mostly the mid-sea, Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare Like furnace-chimneys in the air, And are called the Chimneys Three. "And ill betide the luckless ship That meets the Carmilhan; Over her decks the seas will leap, She must go down into the deep, And perish mouse and man.' The captain of the Valdemar Laughed loud with merry heart. "I should like to see this ship," said he; "I should like to find these Chimneys Three, That are marked down in the chart. "I have sailed right over the spot," he said, "With a good stiff breeze behind, When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, You can follow my course by these pinholes here, And never a rock could find." And then he swore a dreadful oath, He swore by the Kingdoms Three, That, should he meet the Carmilhan, He would run her down, although he ran Right into Eternity! All this, while passing to and fro, The cabin-boy had heard; He was a simple country lad, But of a roving mind. "O, it must be like heaven," thought he, "Those far-off foreign lands to see, And fortune seek and find!" But in the fo'castle, when he heard He thought of home, he thought of God, And his mother under the churchyard sod, And wished it were a dream. One friend on board that ship had he; III. THE cabin windows have grown blank As eyeballs of the dead; No more the glancing sunbeams burn On Valdemar Victorious, Who looketh with disdain To see his image in the tide Dismembered float from side to side, And reunite again. "It is the wind," those skippers said, It is the wind; it freshens fast, "That swings the vessel so; 'Tis time to say farewell at last, 'Tis time for us to go." They shook the captain by the hand, "Good luck! good luck!" they cried; Each face was like the setting sun, As, broad and red, they one by one Went o'er the vessel's side. The sun went down, the full moon rose, Serene o'er field and flood; And all the winding creeks and bays The southwest wind blew fresh and fair, The lovely moon climbs up the sky Low down upon the sandy coast The lights begin to burn; The dawn appears, the land is gone, Then on each hand low hills of sand Through Kattegat and Skager-rack Black grew the sky, all black, all And close behind the Carmilhan black; The clouds were everywhere; There was a feeling of suspense In nature, a mysterious sense Of terror in the air. And all on board the Valdemar And lurched into the sea. The captain up and down the deck Which way the wind might blow. Eight bells and suddenly abaft, There rose up from the sea, And onward dashed, the Valdemar She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, As when, careering to her nest, Then suddenly there came a shock, Upon the Chimneys Three. The storm and night were passed, the light To streak the east began; INTERLUDE. WHEN the long murmur of applause Dead leaves that rustle as they fall; The Student answered: "Be discreet; worse, Fresh every morning, and half baked; As oft we see the sky in May Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, The Poet's face, before so gay, green, Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four in hand, Down the long lane, and out into the land, And knew that he was far upon the way To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay! Just then the meditations of the Earl A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, bore A pail of water, dripping, through the street, And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. It was a pretty picture, full of grace, The slender form, the delicate, thin face; The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; | The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced: And with uncommon feelings of delight The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say These words, or thought he did, as plain as day: "O Martha Hilton! Fie! how dare you go About the town half dressed, and looking so!" At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied: "No matter how I look; I yet shall ride In my own chariot, ma'am." And on Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and The sunsets flushed its western windows red; fast; snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain ; Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again; For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, A goodly place, where it was good to be. It was a pleasant mansion, an abode Near and yet hidden from the great highroad, Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died, In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide, Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. |