Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG OF THE SHIPS, by CLINTON SCOLLARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG OF THE SHIPS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The great ships go a-shouldering
Last Line: And sail no more, no more!
Subject(s): Decay; Sailing & Sailors; Seashore; Ships & Shipping; Rot; Decadence; Beach; Coast; Shore


The great ships go a-shouldering
Along my line of shore;
The little ships like sea-gulls fly
Under the blue tent of the sky,
And some will lie a-mouldering,
Where phosphor lights are smouldering,
And sail no more, no more!

Spruce and trig
Is yon bounding brig; --
"Whither away, my master?"
"Oh, just for a bit of a jaunty trip,
From the lazy ooze of Salem slip
To where the long tides roar and rip
Round the coral keys
Of the outer seas,
And the combers cry 'disaster!'
Out and up with the topsail there!
There's plenty of God's free briny air
To crowd her a little faster!"

Ah, like a lark,
Dips yonder bark, --
Poises and dips and rises!
"Whither away?"
"To the clear blue day,
And the Lost Lagoon
Where the flame of noon
Is full of rapt surprises,
And the tropic moon,
As it swings a-swoon,
Entangles and entices!"

It's "champ! champ! champ!"
Goes the wheezy tramp,
With her funnels low and raky;
"Whither away?" -- "Well, the good Lord knows
Where we'll land, if it up and blows,
For the keel is foul (that's one of our woes!)
And the screw is mighty shaky;
But we'll weather to port although it be
Under the gray-green roof of the sea,
And we'll warp to the pier
With a rouse of cheer,
Though queer be the pier and quaky!"

Like an arrowy shaft
From fore to aft
Onward urges the liner;
"Whither away?" Strong comes the hail, --
"O'er creamy crest and o'er beryl vale
To the gates of the Ultimate East we sail
Where the rose abides and the nightingale
Sits caroling -- none diviner!
A myriad hopes -- not a wraith of doubt! --
Throb between our decks as we hurtle out;
And the mind and the shaping hand of man,
Since the ancient surge of Time began,
Ne'er fashioned a splendor finer!"

With sparkling spar
Glides the man-o'-war,
Her great-gunned turrets towering;
"Whither away?" -- "To the verge of earth
To guard the rights of the free of birth,
And give them a taste of our Yankee mirth
Wherever the foe be lowering;
And should it come to last appeal,
To the cruel chrism of fire and steel,
Be it man on bridge, in hold, at wheel,
There'll be no caitiff cowering!"

And so the ships go shouldering
Along my line of shore,
And whether they dare the fret of the Horn,
Or make for the Golden Isles of Morn,
Under the sapphire tent of sky,
Some will range back by and by,
And some will lie a-mouldering,
Where phosphor lights are smouldering,
And sail no more, no more!





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