Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE YOUNG MARINERS, by ELIZA COOK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE YOUNG MARINERS, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: Bred up beside the rugged coast, three brothers bold were we
Last Line: The ocean for our play-place, and the petrel for our toy.
Subject(s): Sea; Ocean


Bred up beside the rugged coast, three brothers bold were we,
Wild urchin mariners, who knew no play-place but the sea:
We spurned all space the earth could give -- the valley,
hill, and field;
The main -- the boundless main alone, our reckless sports could yield.
We long had borrowed sail and skiff, -- obliged to be content
With any crazy, sluggard hull that kindly fisher lent:
At last our spirits like our limbs, all strong and broad had grown,
And all our thoughts were centered in "a vessel of our own!"

The eldest-born our hope and pride, the brightest of the three,
Had entered on the busy world, a sturdy ship-wright he,
And mighty project filled our heads -- we sat in council sage,
With earnest speech and gravity beseeming riper age:
We dared to think, we dared to say, that he could frame a boat,
And many others said the same, but questioned, -- "would it float?"
Yet lines were drawn, and timbers bought -- all well and
wisely planned,
And steadily he set to work to try his "'prentice hand."

He soon gave proof of goodly skill, and built a tiny craft,
While gray-haired sailors shook their heads and beardless
landsmen laughed.
"'Tis a sweet cockleshell," cried they, "well formed to please a boy;
With silken sails the thing will be a pretty water toy."
We took their taunts all quietly, till she was fit to launch,
And then some eyes began to find she looked a little staunch.
All trim and neat, rigged out complete, we hailed our fairy bark,
And chose her name the Petrel, from the bird of storm and dark.

We three, and Will, the smuggler's son, composed her stripling crew;
Her sheets were white as breakers' spray, her pennon old true blue;
And blessed was the breezy hour, and happy wights were we,
When first we gave her wings the wind, and saw her take the sea.
She cleared the bay and shot away with free and steady speed:
Ne'er faster sped the desert child upon his Arab steed.
And though that squally day had served the fishers to deter,
The Petrel fairly showed us that it failed to frighten her.

We reefed -- she slacked; "Helm down!" -- she tacked. She
scudded -- went about,
All nobly done, our hopes were won -- what triumph
filled our shout!
And miser never prized his heaps, nor bridegroom loved his bride,
As we did our brave Petrel when she cut the booming tide.
Full many a fearful trip we made; no hazard did we shun;
We met the gale as readily as butterflies the sun.
No terror seized our glowing hearts; the blast but raised our mirth;
We felt as safe upon her planks as by our house-hold hearth.

When many a large and stately ship lay rolling like a log,
With more of water in her hold than that which served for grog,
"What, ho!" we'd cry, while skimming by. -- "Look here, ye
boasting band --
Just see what boys with water toys and silken sails can stand!"
Old Nep might lash his dolphins on with fierce and splashing wrath,
And summon ill the myrmidons of death about his path;
The Triton trumpeter might sound his conch horr long and loud,
Till scaly monsters woke and tossed the billows to the cloud;

The Nereids might scream their glee, bluff Boreas howl and rave;
But still the little Petrel was as saucy as the wave.
By day or night, in shade or light, a fitting mate was she
To ramble with her sponsor-bird, and live on any sea.
She tempted with a witching spell, she lured us to forget
A sister's fear, a mother's tear, a father's chiding threat.
Away we'd dash through foam and flash, and take the main as soon
Amid the scowling tempest as beneath the summer moon.

Some thirty years of toil and moil have done their work since then,
And changed us three young mariners to staid and thoughtful men;
But when by lucky chance we meet, we ne'er forget to note
The perils that we dared with such a "wee thing" of a boat.
Oh! were it so that time could give some chosen moments back,
Full well we know the sunniest that ever lit life's track;
We'd ask the days beside the coast, of freedom, health, and joy --
The ocean for our play-place, and the Petrel for our toy.





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