The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 15

He knew at last he had been a fool, To think of breaking the forest rule, And choosing a dress himself to please, Because he envied the other trees.

But it couldn't be helped, it was now too late, He must make up his mind to a leafless fate!

So he let himself sink in a slumber deep, But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep, Till the morning touched him with joyful beam, And he woke to find it was all a dream.

For there in his evergreen dress he stood, A pointed fir in the midst of the wood!

His branches were sweet with the balsam smell, His needles were green when the white snow fell.

And always contented and happy was he,-- The very best kind of a Christmas tree.

"GRAN' BOULE"

A SEAMAN'S TALE OF THE SEA

We men hat go down for a livin' in ships to the sea,-- We love it a different way from you poets that 'bide on the land.

We are fond of it, sure! But, you take it as comin' from me, There's a fear and a hate in our love that a landsman can't understand.

Oh, who could help likin' the salty smell, and the blue Of the waves that are lazily breathin' as if they dreamed in the sun?

She's a Sleepin' Beauty, the sea,--but you can't tell what she'll do; And the seamen never trust her,--they know too well what she's done!

She's a wench like one that I saw in a singin'-play,-- Carmen they called her,--Lord, what a life her lovers did lead!

She'd cuddle and kiss you, and sing you and dance you away; And then,--she'd curse you, and break you, and throw you down like a weed.

You may chance it awhile with the girls like that, if you please; But you want a woman to trust when you settle down with a wife; And a seaman's thought of growin' old at his ease Is a snug little house on the land to shelter the rest of his life.

So that was old Poisson's dream,--did you know the Cap'?

A brown little Frenchman, clever, and brave, and quick as a fish,-- Had a wife and kids on the other side of the map,-- And a rose-covered cottage for them and him was his darlin' wish.

"I 'ave sail," says he, in his broken-up Frenchy talk, "Mos' forty-two year; I 'ave go on all part of de worl' dat ees wet.

I'm seeck of de boat and de water. I rader walk Wid ma Josephine in one garden; an' eef we get tire', we set!

"You see dat _bateau_, _Sainte Brigitte_? I bring 'er dh'are From de Breton coas', by gar, jus' feefteen year bifore.

She ole w'en she come on Kebec, but _Holloway Freres_ Dey buy 'er, an' hire me run 'er along dat dam' Nort' Sh.o.r.e.

"Dose engine one leetl' bit cranky,--too ole, you see,-- She roll and peetch in de wave'. But I lak' 'er pretty well; An' dat sheep she lak' 'er captaine, sure, dat's me!

Wit' forty ton coal in de bunker, I tek' dat sheep t'rou' h.e.l.l.

"But I don' wan' risk it no more; I had _bonne chance_: I save already ten t'ousan' dollar', dat's plenty I s'pose!

Nex' winter I buy dat house wid de garden on France An' I tell _adieu_ to de sea, and I leev' on de lan' in ripose."

All summer he talked of his house,--you could see the flowers Abloom, and the pear-trees trained on the garden-wall so trim, And the Captain awalkin' and smokin' away the hours,-- He thought he had done with the sea, but the sea hadn't done with him!

It was late in the fall when he made the last regular run, Clear down to the Esquimault Point and back with his rickety ship; She hammered and pounded a lot, for the storms had begun; But he drove her,--and went for his season's pay at the end of the trip.

Now the Holloway Brothers are greedy and thin little men, With their eyes set close together, and money's their only G.o.d; So they told the Cap' he must run the "Bridget" again, To fetch a cargo from Moisie, two thousand quintals of cod.

He said the season was over. They said: "Not yet.

You finish the whole of your job, old man, or you don't draw a cent!"

(They had the "Bridget" insured for all they could get.) And the Captain objected, and cursed, and cried. But he _went_.

They took on the cargo at Moisie, and folks beside,-- Three traders, a priest, and a couple of nuns, and a girl For a school at Quebec,--when the Captain saw her he sighed, And said: "Ma littl' Fifi got hair lak' dat, all curl!"

The snow had fallen a foot, and the wind was high, When the "Bridget" b.u.t.ted her way thro' the billows on Moisie bar.

The darkness grew with the gale, not a star in the sky, And the Captain swore: "We mus' make _Sept Isles_ to-night, by gar!"

He couldn't go back, for he didn't dare to turn; The sea would have thrown the ship like a mustang noosed with a rope; For the monstrous waves were leapin' high astern, And the shelter of Seven Island Bay was the only hope.

There's a bunch of broken hills half sunk in the mouth Of the bay, with their jagged peaks afoam; and the Captain thought He could pa.s.s to the north; but the sea kept shovin' him south, With her harlot hands, in the snow-blind murk, till she had him caught.

She had waited forty years for a night like this,-- Did he think he could leave her now, and live in a cottage, the fool?

She headed him straight for the island he couldn't miss; And heaved his boat in the dark,--and smashed it against _Gran' Boule_.

How the Captain and half of the people clambered ash.o.r.e, Through the surf and the snow in the gloom of that horrible night, There's no one ever will know. For two days more The death-white shroud of the tempest covered the island from sight.

How they suffered, and struggled, and died, will never be told; We discovered them all at last when we reached _Gran' Boule_ with a boat; The drowned and the frozen were lyin' stiff and cold, And the poor little girl with the curls was wrapped in the Captain's coat.

Go write your song of the sea as the landsmen do, And call her your "great sweet mother," your "bride," and all the rest; She was made to be loved,--but remember, she won't love you,-- The men who trust her the least are the sailors who know her the best.

HEROES OF THE "t.i.tANIC"

Honour the brave who sleep Where the lost "t.i.tanic" lies, The men who knew what a man must do When he looks Death in the eyes.

"Women and children first,"-- Ah, strong and tender cry!

The sons whom women had borne and nursed, Remembered,--and dared to die.

The boats crept off in the dark: The great ship groaned: and then,-- O stars of the night, who saw that sight, Bear witness, _These were men!_

November 9, 1912.

THE STANDARD-BEARER

I

"How can I tell," Sir Edmund said, "Who has the right or the wrong o' this thing?

Cromwell stands for the people's cause, Charles is crowned by the ancient laws; English meadows are sopping red, Englishmen striking each other dead,-- Times are black as a raven's wing.

Out of the ruck and the murk I see Only one thing!

The King has trusted his banner to me, And I must fight for the King."

II

Into the thick of the Edgehill fight Sir Edmund rode with a shout; and the ring Of grim-faced, hard-hitting Parliament men Swallowed him up,--it was one against ten!

He fought for the standard with all his might, Never again did he come to sight-- Victor, hid by the raven's wing!

After the battle had pa.s.sed we found Only one thing,-- The hand of Sir Edmund gripped around The banner-staff of his King.