The Landlubber's Chantey, James Montgomery.

The Landlubber’s Chantey.
by James Stuart Montgomery.

Here I drone in this human hive,
Blow, ye sirens, blow!
And three times eight are twenty-five,
Blow, ye sirens, blow!
Blue Peter snaps and flutters wide,
The dripping hawser slaps her side,
Out she warps on the turning tide!
Blow, ye sirens, blow!

Three and four and a one make nine—
Roll, ye combers, roll!
The air is sharp with windswept brine,
Roll, ye combers, roll!
She’s dropped the last low line of shore,
The furrowed seas stretch out before—
Ten thousand miles to Singapore!
Roll, ye combers, roll!

Lawless days and thirsty knives,
Roar, ye typhoons, roar!
Sudden ends to rum-wrecked lives,
Roar, ye typhoons, roar!
On sunken reefs a gray sea moans
Of missing ships and dead men’s bones—
Oh, blast those jangling telephones!
Roar, ye typhoons, roar!

Debit Smith and credit Ross—
Sigh, ye Southern seas!
Brightly burns the starry cross—
Sigh, ye Southern seas!
A breeze with spices laden down;
A Venus done in ivory brown
Gleams through her sketchy cotton gown.
Sigh, ye Southern seas!

Where Christians loaf and heathens sweat,
Heave, ye rollers, heave!
There’s life to live and gold to get,
Heave, ye rollers, heave!
Beneath the ocean’s sunlit green
Are pearls to grace an Eastern queen—
And eight and nine are seventeen.
Heave, ye rollers, heave!