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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SEAFARER, by                    
First Line: I may sing of myself now
Last Line: In time without end!
Subject(s): Sea; Ocean


I may sing of myself now
A song that is true,
Can tell of wide travel,
Of hard days of toil;
How oft through long seasons
I suffered and strove,
Abiding within my breast
Bitterest care;
How I sailed among sorrows
In many a sea;
The wild rise of the waves,
The close watch through the night
At the dark prow in danger
Of dashing on rock,
Folded in by the frost,
My feet bound by the cold
In chill bands, in the breast
The heart burning with care.
The soul of the sea weary
Hunger assailed.

Knows not he who finds happiest
Home upon earth
How I lived through long winters
In labour and care,
On the icy-cold ocean,
An exile from joy,
Cut off from dear kindred,
Encompassed with ice.
Hail flew in hard showers,
And nothing I heard
But the wrath of the waters,
The icy-cold way;
At times the swan's song;
In the scream of the gannet
I sought for my joy,
In the moan of the sea-whelp
For laughter of men,
In the song of the sea-mew
For drinking of mead.
Starlings answered the storm
Beating stones on the cliff,
Icy-feathered, and often
The eagle would shriek,
Wet of wing.
Not one home-friend could feel
With the desolate soul;
For he little believes
To whom life's joy belongs
In the town, lightly troubled
With dangerous tracks,
Vain with high spirit
And wanton with wine,
How often I wearily
Held my sea-way.

The night shadows darkened,
It snowed from the north;
The rime bound the rocks;
The hail rolled upon earth,
Coldest of corn:
Therefore now is high heaving
In thoughts of my heart,
That my lot is, to learn
The wide joy of waters
The whirl of salt spray.
Often desire drives
My soul to depart,
That the home of the strangers
Far hence I may seek.

There is no man among us
So proud in his mind,
Nor so good in his gifts,
Nor so gay in his youth,
Nor so daring in deeds,
Nor so dear to his lord,
That his soul never stirred
At the thought of seafaring,
Or what his great Master
Will do with him yet.
He hears not the harp,
Heeds not giving of rings,
Has to woman no will,
And no hope in the world,
Nor in aught there is else
But the wash of the waves.
He lives ever longing
Who looks to the sea.

Groves bud with green,
The hills grow fair,
Gay shine the fields,
The world's astir:
All this but warns
The willing mind
To set the sail,
For so he thinks
Far on the waves
To win his way.
With woeful note
The cuckoo warns,
The summer's warden sings,
And sorrow rules
The heart-store bitterly.
No man can know,
Nursed in soft ease,
The burden borne
By those who fare
The farthest from their friends.

In the soul's secret chamber
My mind now is set;
My heart's thought on wide waters,
The home of the whale,
It wanders away
Beyond limits of land:
Comes again to me, yearning
With eager desire;
Loud cries the lone-flier,
And stirs the mind's longing
To travel the way that is trackless,
The death-way over the flood.

For my will to my Master's pleasure
Is warmer than this dead life
That is lent us on land.
I believe not
That earth-blessings ever abide.
Ever of three things one,
To each ere the severing hour:
Old age, sickness, or slaughter,
Will force the doomed soul to depart.

Therefore for each of the earls,
Of those who shall afterwards name them,
This is best laud from the living
In last words spoken about him: --
He worked ere he went his way,
When on earth, against wiles of the foe,
With brave deeds overcoming the devil.
His memory cherished
By children of men,
His glory grows ever
With angels of God,
In life everlasting
Of bliss with the bold.
Passed are the days of the pride
Of the kingdoms of earth.
Kings are no more, and kaisers.
None count out,
As once they did, their gifts of gold
When that made them most great,
And Man judged that they lived
As Lords most High.
That fame is all fallen,
Those joys are all fled;
The weak ones abiding
Lay hold on the world:
By their labour they win.

High fortune is humbled;
Earth's haughtiness ages
And wastes, -- as now withers
Each Man from the world:
Old Age is upon him
And bleaches his face;
He is gray-haired and grieves,
Knows he now must give up
The old friends he cherished,
Chief children of earth.
The husk of flesh,
When life is fled,
Shall taste no sweetness,
Feel no sore;
Is in its hand no touch;
Is in its brain no thought.
Though his born brother
Strew gold in the grave,
Bury him pompously
Borne to the dead,
Entomb him with treasure,
The trouble is vain:
The soul of the sinful
His gold may not save
From the awe before God,
Though he hoarded it heedfully
While he lived here.

Great awe is in presence of God.
The firm ground trembles before Him
Who strongly fixed its foundations,
The limits of earth and the heavens.
Fool is he without fear of the Lord;
To him will come death unforeseen:
Happy he who is lowly of life;
To him will come honour from heaven:
The Creator will strengthen his soul
Because he put trust in His power.

Rude will should be ruled
And restrained within bound
And clean in its ways with men.
If every man
Kept measure in mind
With friend and with foe,
. . . . . .
More force is in fate,
In the Maker more might,
Than in thought of a man.

Let us look to the home
Where in truth we can live,
And then let us be thinking
How thither to come:
For then we too shall toil
That our travel may reach
To delight never ending,
When life is made free
In the love of the Lord
In the height of the heavens!
May we thank the All Holy
Who gave us this grace, --
The Wielder of glory,
The Lord everlasting, --
In time without end! Amen.





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