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Songs of Sea and Sail

<h2>THE BELFRY OF THE SEA.</h2> Men who bless them And caress them— Bells that call upon the land— Curse and chide them, Mock, deride them, When they shout above a sand. Not alone are bells thus treated, For the story is repeated In the world of every day; He who flings us— He who brings us— Joys and pleasures all may share, Has our blessings for his pay; But he who warns us— He who mourns us, Bids us to the watch and ware— Has our curses, And reverses In the moulds that mint our prayer. [Pg 86] O singer of the sailor's song, Fear not to sing me broad and strong— Fear not to sing me in the van Of those who stand and strive for man; And if they make the question, then Come tell me what man does for men. I am the Belfry of the Sea, The rider of the swell, The guardsman of the deadly lee, The outer sentinel. Man placed me here to watch this sand— This sneaking, shifting shoal— He shaped me with a clever hand, So that my bell doth toll With every move and motion Of the changeful, changeless ocean. Mine is a thankless task; But no recompense I ask. I am hated by the shoal; [Pg 87] I am hated by the sea; And the very fish that bask In the shadow of my cask Are half afraid of me. The land wind speaks me fair, For it has no thought or care With the deeds that are done In the midnight and the gale; And it bears me on its wing A welcome offering Of the shouting of the upland And the chatter of the shale. But most I love the weather When the wind and sea together Lie locked in summer slumber And the sky sleeps overhead, For then I ease the strain On my anchor and my chain, And ring a muffled service For my shattered, scattered dead. I am never wholly sad; [Pg 88] I am never wholly glad; For my sadness is half madness And my gladness is half sadness For the remnants of the wrecks That lie below me cast A gloom upon the wave, And my sunny days are past Sleeping in the shadow That is shaken from a grave. 'Twas not I who betrayed them; 'Twas not I who waylaid them; But they died with curses for me On their water-wasted lips. I did my best to save them The warning that I gave them Is the warning that has succored Ten thousand watchful ships. Ah, had they used the lead! Ah, had they tacked instead Of standing blindly onward [Pg 89] Without a watch for me! They would have heard me tolling; They would have seen me rolling; And have had a chance to weather And gain the open sea. For I mark a dreaded danger To the coaster and the stranger, For my friend below is silent And shows no foamy chain. Not like the sunken ledge; Not like the reefs that wedge The surges from the undergrip And hurl them out again. For the reef it warns the ship By the frothing and the snowing Of its rocky underlip; For it shows its broken teeth, And it bares the bone beneath, And roars sometimes in anger, [Pg 90] And it cries sometimes in grief. But this sluggish and this sucking spread of sand It is dead to ear and eye; And its very bounds defy The laws that keep in order The stout and stable land. It changes every storm; And I never know its form— I who gird and guard it With my constant clanging bell— It scarcely gives me hold For my anchor in its mold; And we shift and change together With each mighty, moving swell. But I rob it of its prey, For the ships have time to stay, When the wind takes up my music And bears it out to sea; But when the Easters roar [Pg 91] And drive upon the shore My loudest cry of warning Is tossed and lost a-lee. Then, then I cry in anger, And the clanging and the clangor Shake and shock the bars Of my tossing, toiling cage; And I curse the wind and sea, And the chain that's under me Strains its links and surges With the transports of my rage. For I know I cannot save them; And the shoal that thinks to grave them— That will feed its thousand acres On their oaken frames and sides— It seems to mound its spread, It seems to lift its head, As though to make more deadly The tangle of its tides. In the snow, in the fog, [Pg 92] When the sharpest eyes are blind; When the ocean Has scarce motion, And the wind Has forsaken; When my power of speech is taken, And I sit in silent pain; When I toil and toil in vain To force the larum note From the muscles of my throat, And it only breathes a toll That dies upon the shoal; And I strive and I writhe With the pain of action palsied By a force beyond control. When I cannot see or hear them; When I cannot warn or cheer them; And only know that they are there By the throbbing of my soul. For I know that they will blame me; For I know that they will name me With the bitterest of curses [Pg 93] For the silence of my note, And I stoop and pray the sea To lend its aid to me; But it mocks me with a ripple That scarcely wets my float. And then I hear them calling, As slowly, slowly crawling They come working in from seaward With their whistles crying where? And I try to answer back That I'm lying in the track; But the loudest cry I make them Is a thread upon the air. [Pg 94] Swing—swing— Ring—ring— Roll—roll— Toll—toll— Just a thing Without a soul, Doing its duty on the shoal; Just a bell That sea and swell In their fury, in their play, Set a throbbing, And a sobbing; By their very madness robbing— By their rage and rush defeating, By their hate and hurry cheating— Ocean of its prey. Swing—swing— Ring—ring— Roll—roll— Toll—toll. 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