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He enters the port with a full sail.

quote by Virgil
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orinoco Flows

Verse 1:
Let me sail, let me sail, let the orinoco flow,
Let me reach, let me beach on the shores of tripoli.
Let me sail, let me sail, let me crash upon your shore,
Let me reach, let me beach far beyond the yellow sea.
Sail away, sail away, sail away. (x3)
Verse 2:
From bissau to palau - in the shade of avalon,
From fiji to tiree and the isles of ebony,
From peru to cebu hear the power of babylon,
From bali to cali - far beneath the coral sea.
Turning up, turning up, turning up, up I do. ohh. (x3)
Sail away, sail away, sail away. (x3)
Verse 3:
From the north to the south, ebudae into khartoum,
From the deep sea of clouds to the island of the moon,
Carry me on the waves to the land Ive never been,
Carry me on the waves to the lands Ive never seen.
We can sail, we can sail... with the orinoco flow
We can sail, we can sail...
Sail away, sail away, sail away.
We can steer, we can near with rob dickins at the wheel,
We can sigh, say goodbye ross and his dependencies
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
We can reach, we can beach on the shores of tripoli.
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
From bali to cali - far beneath the coral sea.
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
From bissau to palau - in the shade of avalon,
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
We can reach, we can beach far beyond the yellow sea.
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
From peru to cebu hear the power of babylon,
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away
We can sail, we can sail
Sail away , sail away, sail away (x5)
Ahhah, aahha, ah.

song performed by Enya
Added by Lucian Velea
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Enoch Arden

Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;
And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher
A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill;
And high in heaven behind it a gray down
With Danish barrows; and a hazelwood,
By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes
Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.

Here on this beach a hundred years ago,
Three children of three houses, Annie Lee,
The prettiest little damsel in the port,
And Philip Ray the miller's only son,
And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad
Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd
Among the waste and lumber of the shore,
Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets,
Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn,
And built their castles of dissolving sand
To watch them overflow'd, or following up
And flying the white breaker, daily left
The little footprint daily wash'd away.

A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff:
In this the children play'd at keeping house.
Enoch was host one day, Philip the next,
While Annie still was mistress; but at times
Enoch would hold possession for a week:
`This is my house and this my little wife.'
`Mine too' said Philip `turn and turn about:'
When, if they quarrell'd, Enoch stronger-made
Was master: then would Philip, his blue eyes
All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears,
Shriek out `I hate you, Enoch,' and at this
The little wife would weep for company,
And pray them not to quarrel for her sake,
And say she would be little wife to both.

But when the dawn of rosy childhood past,
And the new warmth of life's ascending sun
Was felt by either, either fixt his heart
On that one girl; and Enoch spoke his love,
But Philip loved in silence; and the girl
Seem'd kinder unto Philip than to him;
But she loved Enoch; tho' she knew it not,
And would if ask'd deny it. Enoch set
A purpose evermore before his eyes,
To hoard all savings to the uttermost,
To purchase his own boat, and make a home

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Sail On Sailor

I sail an ocean, unsettled ocean
Through restless water, and deep commotion
Often frightened, unenlightened
Sail on, sail on sailor
I wrest the waters, fight Neptune's waters
Sail through the sorrows, of life's maurauders
Unrepenting, often empty
Sail on, sail on sailor
Caught like a sewer rat, alone but I see
Bought like a crust of bread, but oh do I wail
Seldom stumble, never crumble, try to tumble, life's a rumble
Feel the stinging, I've been given, never ending, unrelenting
Heartbreaks nearing, always fearing, never caring, persevering
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
I work the seaway (I work the seaway)
The gale swept seaway, (oh seaway)
Past shipwrecked daughters, (oh daughters)
Of wicked waters
Uninspired, drenched and tired
Wail on, wail on sailor
Always needing, ever bleeding, never feeding, all my feelings
Damn the thunder, must I blunder, there's no wonder,all I'm under
Stop your cryin', and the lyin', and the sighin', and my dyin'
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
(You've got to )
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dont You Rock Me Daddio

Me and my daddy was comin into town
(sail away lady sail away)
Round the billygoat leadin a hound
(sail away lady sail away)
Hound got dumped, billygoat jumped
(sail away lady sail away)
Throwd my brother right over that stump
(sail away lady sail away)
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Well my old auntie promised me
(sail away lady sail away)
When shed die shed will to me
(sail away lady sail away)
She lived so long her head got bald
(sail away lady sail away)
She got out the notes and the dimes and all
(sail away lady sail away)
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Aaay
(instrumental)
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
I said
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Well my old auntie promised me
(sail away lady sail away)
When shed die shed will to me
(sail away lady sail away)
Well, she lived so long her head got bald
(sail away lady sail away)
She didnt got out the notes and the dimes and all
(sail away lady said away)
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio
Dont you rock me daddio

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sail On Sailor

I sailed an ocean, unsettled ocean
Through restful waters and deep commotion
Often frightened, unenlightened
Sail on, sail on sailor
I wrest the waters, fight neptunes waters
Sail through the sorrows of lifes marauders
Unrepenting, often empty
Sail on, sail on sailor
Caught like a sewer rat alone but I sail
Bought like a crust of bread, but oh do I wail
Seldom stumble, never crumble
Try to tumble, lifes a rumble
Feel the stinging Ive been given
Never ending, unrelenting
Heartbreak searing, always fearing
Never caring, persevering
Sail on, sail on, sailor
I work the seaways, the gale-swept seaways
Past shipwrecked daughters of wicked waters
Uninspired, drenched and tired
Wail on, wail on, sailor
Always needing, even bleeding
Never feeding all my feelings
Damn the thunder, must I blunder
Theres no wonder all Im under
Stop the crying and the lying
And the sighing and my dying
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.

The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right

No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.

Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,

That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.

But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Whose Country Is This?

Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !

[...] Read more

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sail Away

By dickey betts
(c) 1979 emi blackwood music inc.
Sunset colors, all across the bay.
Finds me here alone at the end of one more day.
Skipping stones across the water.
Wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Palm trees sway in the evening breeze.
Sing a lullabye of sweet love to me.
Sailboat, sail away into the amber sky.
And I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
May all your dreams come true one day.
Sail on, sail away.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
May all your dreams come true one day.
Sail on, sail away.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
I wonder why I ever thought youd stay.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.
Sail on, sail away.

song performed by Allman Brothers Band
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'

II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Orlando Furioso Canto 19

ARGUMENT
Medoro, by Angelica's quaint hand,
Is healed, and weds, and bears her to Catay.
At length Marphisa, with the chosen band,
After long suffering, makes Laiazzi's bay.
Guido the savage, bondsman in the land,
Which impious women rule with civil sway,
With Marphisa strives in single fight,
And lodges her and hers at full of night.

I
By whom he is beloved can no one know,
Who on the top of Fortune's wheel is seated;
Since he, by true and faithless friends, with show
Of equal faith, in glad estate is greeted.
But, should felicity be changed to woe,
The flattering multitude is turned and fleeted!
While he who loves his master from his heart,
Even after death performs his faithful part.

II
Were the heart seen as is the outward cheer,
He who at court is held in sovereign grace,
And he that to his lord is little dear,
With parts reversed, would fill each other's place;
The humble man the greater would appear,
And he, now first, be hindmost in the race.
But be Medoro's faithful story said,
The youth who loved his lord, alive or dead.

III
The closest path, amid the forest gray,
To save himself, pursued the youth forlorn;
But all his schemes were marred by the delay
Of that sore weight upon his shoulders born.
The place he knew not, and mistook the way,
And hid himself again in sheltering thorn.
Secure and distant was his mate, that through
The greenwood shade with lighter shoulders flew.

IV
So far was Cloridan advanced before,
He heard the boy no longer in the wind;
But when he marked the absence of Medore,
It seemed as if his heart was left behind.
'Ah! how was I so negligent,' (the Moor
Exclaimed) 'so far beside myself, and blind,
That I, Medoro, should without thee fare,
Nor know when I deserted thee or where?'

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Full Sail

Full sail full sail
Steady as you go
The wind will blow
Set sail at frisco bay
In a fog cold and gray
Clear sailing, day after day
Full sail full sail
Now the air is still
We lay adrift
Come upon a sea of trouble
Till the winds of change shift
My course is set
Theres no turning back
But theres no goin anywhere yet
Full sail full sail
Waiting for the wind to blow
The wind will blow
Does the silence of the sea
Sound warning of a storm ahead
Whispers of the breeze
Stir and disappear
To soft to hear
Whats in store for me
Adventure on the high seas
Put the childhood dream to the test
Find the measure of the man
Follow the sun heading west
Full sail
Steady as you go
Steady as you go
Full sail
Waiting for the wind to blow
The wind will blow
Hey full sail
Mmmm mmmmm
Hey full sail

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Runnin'

It's hard to hit a moving target
At least that's what I've been told
If they can't catch you they can't hurt you
You never let them get a hold
So I keep runinn'
I keep right on runnin'
I've always pushed it to the limit
In fact I've pushed it way past that
If you got guts then jump on in it
If not then don't forget your hat
And I keep runnin'
Keep on runnin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
Even though I'm cryin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
Keep myself from dyin'
Kick back, relax, don't try to fight it
I'm like a time bomb set to blow
Oh babe, you make me so excited
I just can't take it anymore
I might stop cryin'
Feels like I'm flyin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
Though it feels like flyin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
You make me feel like dyin'
Sail - sail - sail
Sail - sail - sail
Babe, I can't run away from you
But I'm scared to let you know
I never stayed one place long enough
To lose my will to go
Our future's way on up ahead
The past fades somewhere far behind
If we could just inveil our needs
No one could stop us or we'd be flyin'
We could stop runnin'
Stop all this runnin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
No more need for cryin'
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
Love feels like just flyin'
Sail - sail - sail
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
No more need for cryin'
Sail - sail - sail
Runnin', runnin', runnin'
Lovemake me feel like flyin'
Sail - sail - sail
Runnin', runnin', runnin'

[...] Read more

song performed by Cher
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Le port

Toute la mer va vers la ville !

Son port est surmonté d'un million de croix :
Vergues transversales barrant de grands mâts droits.

Son port est pluvieux et suie à travers brumes,
Où le soleil comme un oeil rouge et colossal larmoie.

Son port est ameuté de steamers noirs qui fument
Et mugissent, au fond du soir, sans qu'on les voie.

Son port est fourmillant et musculeux de bras
Perdus en un fouillis dédalien d'amarres.

Son port est tourmenté de chocs et de fracas
Et de marteaux tournant dans l'air leurs tintamarres.

Toute la mer va vers la ville !

Les flots qui voyagent comme les vents,
Les flots légers, les flots vivants,
Pour que la ville en feu l'absorbe et le respire
Lui rapportent le monde en leurs navires.
Les Orients et les Midis tanguent vers elle
Et les Nords blancs et la folie universelle
Et tous les nombres dont le désir prévoit la somme.
Et tout ce qui s'invente et tout ce que les hommes
Tirent de leurs cerveaux puissants et volcaniques
Tend vers elle, cingle vers elle et vers ses luttes :
Elle est le brasier d'or des humaines disputes,
Elle est le réservoir des richesses uniques
Et les marins naïfs peignent son caducée
Sur leur peau rousse et crevassée,
A l'heure où l'ombre emplit les soirs océaniques.

Toute la mer va vers la ville !

Ô les Babels enfin réalisées !
Et cent peuples fondus dans la cité commune ;
Et les langues se dissolvant en une ;
Et la ville comme une main, les doigts ouverts,
Se refermant sur l'univers !

Dites ! les docks bondés jusques au faite
Et la montagne, et le désert, et les forêts,
Et leurs siècles captés comme en des rets ;
Dites ! leurs blocs d'éternité : marbres et bois,
Que l'on achète,
Et que l'on vend au poids ;
Et puis, dites ! les morts, les morts, les morts

[...] Read more

poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Amsterdam

This song was first released on the take me to tomorrow album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Of the dreams that he brings from the wide open sea
In the port of amsterdam theres a sailor who sleeps
While the river bank sweeps to the old willow tree
In the port of amsterdam theres a sailor who dies
Full of beer, full of cries in a drunkin down fight
But in the port of amsterdam theres a sailor whos bom
On a muggy, hot mom by the dawns early light
In the port of amsterdam where the sailors all meet
Theres a sailor who eats only fish heads and tails
He will show you his teeth that have rotted too soon
That can swallow the moon that can haul up the I sails
And he asks to the cook with his amms open wide
Bring me more fish, put it down by my side
And he wants so to belch, but hes too full to try
So he gets up and he laughs, and he zips up his fty
In the port of amsterdam you can see sailors dance
Haunches bursting their pants, binding women to paunch
Theyve forgotten the tune that their whiskey voice croaks
And their splitting the night with the roar of their jokes
And they tum and they dance and they laugh and they lust
To the rats it sounds of the accordion burst
Then hes out into the night with their pride in their pants
With a slut that they tow undemeath the street lamps
In the port of amsterdam theres a sailor who drinks
And he drinks, and he drinks, and he drinks once again
He drinks to the health of the whores of amsterdam
Who have promised their love to a thousand other men
And they darken their bodies, and their virtue long gone
For a few dirty coins
And then when he cant go on
He plants his nose in the sky
And he wipes it up above
And he spits like to cry for an unfaithful love
In the port of amsterdam, in the port of amsterdam
In the port of amsterdam
Words and music by brel - shuman

song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

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poem by Stephen Hawes
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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

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poem by James Thomson
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The Athenaid: Volume I: Book the Tenth

Now is the season, when Vertumnus leads
Pomona's glowing charms through ripen'd groves
Of ruddy fruitage; now the loaden vine
Invites the gath'ring hand, which treasures joy
For hoary winter in his turn to smile.
An eastern course before autumnal gales
To Ephesus the Carian gallies bend;
While Medon coasts by Locris, and deplores
Her state of thraldom. Thrice Aurora shews
Her placid face; devourer of mankind,
The sea, curls lightly in fallacious calms;
To Medon then the wary master thus:

My chief, the dang'rous equinox is near
Whose stormy breath each prudent sailor shuns,
Secure in harbour; turbulent these streights
Between Euboea and the Locrian shore;
Fate lurks in eddies, threatens from the rocks;
The continent is hostile; we must stretch
Across the passage to Euboea's isle,
There wait in safety till the season rude
Its wonted violence hath spent. The chief
Replies: An island, Atalanté nam'd,
Possess'd by Locrians, rises in thy view;
There first thy shelter seek; perhaps the foe
Hath left that fragment of my native state
Yet undestroy'd. Th' obedient rudder guides,
The oars impel the well directed keel
Safe through an inlet op'ning to a cove
Fenc'd round by rising land. At once the sight,
Caught by a lucid aperture of rock,
Strays up the island; whence a living stream,
Profuse and swift beneath a native arch,
Repels encumb'ring sands. A slender skiff,
Launch'd from the ship, pervades the sounding vault;
With his companions Medon bounds ashore,
Addressing Timon: Delphian guest, these steps,
Rude hewn, attain the summit of this rock;
Thence o'er the island may our wary ken,
By some sure sign, discover if we tread
A friendly soil, or hostile. They ascend.
The topmost peak was chisell'd to display
Marine Palæmon, colossean form,
In art not specious. Melicertes once,
Him Ino, flying from th' infuriate sword
Of Athamas her husband, down a cliff,
Distracted mother, with herself immers'd
In ocean's salt-abyss. Their mortal state
Neptunian pity to immortal chang'd;

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poem by Richard Glover
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M'Andrew's Hymn

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it so -- exceptin' always Steam.
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God --
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.
John Calvin might ha' forged the same -- enorrmous, certain, slow --
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame -- ~my~ "Institutio".
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;
I'll stand the middle watch up here -- alone wi' God an' these
My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again.
Slam-bang too much -- they knock a wee -- the crosshead-gibs are loose;
But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse. . . .
Fine, clear an' dark -- a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight,
An' Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night!
His wife's at Plymouth. . . . Seventy --
One -- Two -- Three since he began --
Three turns for Mistress Ferguson. . .and who's to blame the man?
There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow,
Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago.
(The year the ~Sarah Sands~ was burned. Oh roads we used to tread,
Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws -- fra' Govan to Parkhead!)
Not but they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say:
"Good-morrn, M'Andrew! Back again? An' how's your bilge to-day?"
Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair
To drink Madeira wi' three Earls -- the auld Fleet Engineer,
That started as a boiler-whelp -- when steam and he were low.
I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow.
Ten pound was all the pressure then -- Eh! Eh! -- a man wad drive;
An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder fifty-five!
We're creepin' on wi' each new rig -- less weight an' larger power:
There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty knots an hour!
Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began
Leaves me no doot for the machine: but what about the man?
The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea:
Four time the span from earth to moon. . . . How far, O Lord, from Thee?
That wast beside him night an' day. Ye mind my first typhoon?
It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon.
Three feet were on the stokehold-floor -- just slappin' to an' fro --
An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show.
Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns -- deep in my soul an' black,
An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back.
The sins o' four and forty years, all up an' down the seas,
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. . . . Forgie's our trespasses.
Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze,
The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel stays;
Years when I raked the ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong --
Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong!
Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode --
Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road!
An' waur than all -- my crownin' sin -- rank blasphemy an' wild.

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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McAndrew's Hymn

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it so -- exceptin' always Steam.
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God --
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.
John Calvin might ha' forged the same -- enorrmous, certain, slow --
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame -- ~my~ "Institutio".
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;
I'll stand the middle watch up here -- alone wi' God an' these
My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again.
Slam-bang too much -- they knock a wee -- the crosshead-gibs are loose;
But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse. . . .
Fine, clear an' dark -- a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight,
An' Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night!
His wife's at Plymouth. . . . Seventy --
One -- Two -- Three since he began --
Three turns for Mistress Ferguson. . .and who's to blame the man?
There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow,
Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago.
(The year the ~Sarah Sands~ was burned. Oh roads we used to tread,
Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws -- fra' Govan to Parkhead!)
Not but they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say:
"Good-morrn, M'Andrew! Back again? An' how's your bilge to-day?"
Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair
To drink Madeira wi' three Earls -- the auld Fleet Engineer,
That started as a boiler-whelp -- when steam and he were low.
I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow.
Ten pound was all the pressure then -- Eh! Eh! -- a man wad drive;
An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder fifty-five!
We're creepin' on wi' each new rig -- less weight an' larger power:
There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty knots an hour!
Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began
Leaves me no doot for the machine: but what about the man?
The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea:
Four time the span from earth to moon. . . . How far, O Lord, from Thee?
That wast beside him night an' day. Ye mind my first typhoon?
It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon.
Three feet were on the stokehold-floor -- just slappin' to an' fro --
An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show.
Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns -- deep in my soul an' black,
An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back.
The sins o' four and forty years, all up an' down the seas,
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. . . . Forgie's our trespasses.
Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze,
The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel stays;
Years when I raked the ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong --
Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong!
Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode --
Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road!
An' waur than all -- my crownin' sin -- rank blasphemy an' wild.

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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