Ballads of Lost Haven Part 1

Ballads of Lost Haven.

by Bliss Carman.

A SON OF THE SEA

I was born for deep-sea faring; I was bred to put to sea; Stories of my father's daring Filled me at my mother's knee.

I was sired among the surges; I was cubbed beside the foam; All my heart is in its verges, And the sea wind is my home.

All my boyhood, from far vernal Bourns of being, came to me Dream-like, plangent, and eternal Memories of the plunging sea.

THE GRAVEDIGGER

Oh, the shambling sea is a s.e.xton old, And well his work is done.

With an equal grave for lord and knave, He buries them every one.

Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip, He makes for the nearest sh.o.r.e; And G.o.d, who sent him a thousand s.h.i.+p, Will send him a thousand more; But some he'll save for a bleaching grave, And shoulder them in to sh.o.r.e,-- Shoulder them in, shoulder them in, Shoulder them in to sh.o.r.e.

Oh, the s.h.i.+ps of Greece and the s.h.i.+ps of Tyre Went out, and where are they?

In the port they made, they are delayed With the s.h.i.+ps of yesterday.

He followed the s.h.i.+ps of England far, As the s.h.i.+ps of long ago; And the s.h.i.+ps of France they led him a dance, But he laid them all arow.

Oh, a loafing, idle lubber to him Is the s.e.xton of the town; For sure and swift, with a guiding lift, He shovels the dead men down.

But though he delves so fierce and grim, His honest graves are wide, As well they know who sleep below The dredge of the deepest tide.

Oh, he works with a rollicking stave at lip, And loud is the chorus skirled; With the burly rote of his rumbling throat He batters it down the world.

He learned it once in his father's house, Where the ballads of eld were sung; And merry enough is the burden rough, But no man knows the tongue.

Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see, And wilful she must have been, That she could bide at his gruesome side When the first red dawn came in.

And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those She greets to his border home; And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep That beckons, and they come.

Oh, crooked is he, but strong enough To handle the tallest mast; From the royal barque to the slaver dark, He buries them all at last.

Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip, He makes for the nearest sh.o.r.e; And G.o.d, who sent him a thousand s.h.i.+p, Will send him a thousand more; But some he'll save for a bleaching grave, And shoulder them in to sh.o.r.e,-- Shoulder them in, shoulder them in, Shoulder them in to sh.o.r.e.

THE YULE GUEST

And Yanna by the yule log Sat in the empty hall, And watched the goblin firelight Caper upon the wall:

The goblins of the hearthstone, Who teach the wind to sing, Who dance the frozen yule away And usher back the spring;

The goblins of the Northland, Who teach the gulls to scream, Who dance the autumn into dust, The ages into dream.

Like the tall corn was Yanna, Bending and smooth and fair,-- His Yanna of the sea-gray eyes And harvest-yellow hair.

Child of the low-voiced people Who dwell among the hills, She had the lonely calm and poise Of life that waits and wills.

Only to-night a little With grave regard she smiled, Remembering the morn she woke And ceased to be a child.

Outside, the ghostly rampikes, Those armies of the moon, Stood while the ranks of stars drew on To that more s.p.a.cious noon,--

While over them in silence Waved on the dusk afar The gold flags of the Northern light Streaming with ancient war.

And when below the headland The riders of the foam Up from the misty border rode The wild gray horses home,

And woke the wintry mountains With thunder on the sh.o.r.e, Out of the night there came a weird And cried at Yanna's door.

"O Yanna, Adrianna, They buried me away In the blue fathoms of the deep, Beyond the outer bay.

"But in the yule, O Yanna, Up from the round dim sea And reeling dungeons of the fog, I am come back to thee!"

The wind slept in the forest, The moon was white and high, Only the s.h.i.+fting snow awoke To hear the yule guest cry.

"O Yanna, Yanna, Yanna, Be quick and let me in!

For bitter is the trackless way And far that I have been!"

Then Yanna by the yule log Starts from her dream to hear A voice that bids her brooding heart Shudder with joy and fear.

The wind is up a moment And whistles at the eaves, And in his troubled iron dream The ocean moans and heaves.

She trembles at the door-lock That he is come again, And frees the wooden bolt for one No barrier could detain.

"O Garvin, bonny Garvin, So late, so late you come!"

The yule log crumbles down and throws Strange figures on the gloom;

But in the moonlight pouring Through the half-open door Stands the gray guest of yule and casts No shadow on the floor.

The change that is upon him She knows not in her haste; About him her strong arms with glad Impetuous tears are laced.

She's led him to the fireside, And set the wide oak chair, And with her warm hands brushed away The sea-rime from his hair.

"O Garvin, I have waited,-- Have watched the red sun sink, And clouds of sail come flocking in Over the world's gray brink,

"With stories of encounter On plank and mast and spar; But never the brave barque I launched And waved across the bar.

"How come you so unsignalled, When I have watched so well?

Where rides the Adrianna With my name on boat and bell?"