Vagabond and Other Poems from Punch | Page 7

upon your fearful task you flew,?Where in the vault of heaven the high stars swing,?Alone and upward, lost to mortal view,?Winding about the assassin craft a ring?Of fateful motion, till at last you sped
Through the far tracts of gloom?The bolt of doom,?Shattering the dastard foe to earth with all his dead.
For this we thank you, and we bid you know?That henceforth in the air, by day or night,?A myriad hopes of ours, where'er you go,?Rise as companions of your soaring flight;?And well we know that when there comes the need
A host of men like you,?As staunch, as true,?Will rush to prove the daring of the island breed.
PAGAN FANCIES
Blow, Father Triton, blow your wreathéd horn?Cheerly, as is your wont, and let the blast?Circle our island on the breezes borne;?Blow, while the shining hours go swiftly past.?Rise, Proteus, from the cool depths rise, and be?A friend to them that breast your ancient sea.
I shall be there to greet you, for I tire?Of the dull meadows and the crawling stream.?Now with a heart uplifted and a-fire?I come to greet you and to catch the gleam?Of jocund Nereids tossing in the air?The sportive tresses of their amber hair.
High on a swelling upland I shall stand?Stung by the buffets of the wind-borne spray;?Or join the troops that sport upon the sand,?With shouts and laughter wearing out the day;?Or pace apart and listen to the roar?Of the great waves that beat the crumbling shore.
Then, when the children all are lapped in sleep?The pretty Nymphlets of the sea shall rise,?And we shall know them as they flit and creep?And peep and glance and murmur lullabies;?While the pale moon comes up beyond the hill,?And Proteus rests and Triton's horn is still.
ROBIN, THE SEA-BOY
Ho, ruddy-cheeked boys and curly maids,?Who deftly ply your pails and spades,?All you who sturdily take your stand?On your pebble-buttressed forts of sand,
And thence defy?With a fearless eye?And a burst of rollicking high-pitched laughter?The stealthy trickling waves that lap you?And the crested breakers that tumble after?To souse and batter you, sting and sap you--?All you roll-about rackety little folk,?Down-again, up-again, not-a-bit brittle folk,
Attend, attend,?And let each girl and boy?Join in a loud "Ahoy!"?For, lo, he comes, your tricksy little friend,?From the clear caverns of his crystal home?Beyond the tossing ridges of the foam:?Planner of sandy romps and wet delights,?Robin the Sea-boy, prince of ocean-sprites,?Is come, is come to lead you in your play?And fill your hearts with mirth and jocund sport to-day!
What! Can't you see him? There he stands?On a sheer rock and lifts his hands,?A little lad not three feet high,?With dancing mischief in his eye.?His body gleams against the light,?A clear-cut shape of dazzling white?Set off and topped by golden hair?That streams and tosses in the air.?A moment poised, he dares the leap?And cuts the wind and cleaves the deep.?Down through the emerald vaults self-hurled?That roof the sea-god's awful world.?Another moment sees him rise?And beat the salt spray from his eyes.?He breasts the waves, he spurns their blows;?Then, like a rocket, up he goes,?Up, up to where the gusty wind?With all its wrath is left behind;?Still up he soars and high and high?A speck of light that dots the sky.?Then watch him as he slowly droops?Where the great sea-birds wheel their troops.?Three broad-winged gulls, himself their lord,?He hitches to a silken cord,?Bits them and bridles them with skill?And bids them draw him where he will.?Above the tumult of the shores?He floats, he stoops, he darts, he soars;?From near and far he calls the rest?And waves them forward for a quest;?Then straight, without a check, he speeds?Across the azure tracts and leads?With apt reproof and cheering words?As on a chase his cry of birds.
And when he has finished his airy fun?And all his flights and his swoops are done?He will drop to the shore and lend a hand?In building a castle of weed and sand.?He will cover with flints its frowning face?To keep the tide in its proper place,?And the waves shall employ their utmost damp art?In vain to abolish your moated rampart.?And nobody's nurse shall make a fuss,?As is far too often the case with us;?Instead of the usual how-de-do?She will give us praise when we get wet through;?In fact she will smile and think it better?When we get as wet as we like and wetter.?As for eating too much, you can safely risk it?With chocolate, lollipop, cake, and biscuit,?And your mother will revel with high delight?In the state of her own one's appetite.?Great shells there shall be of a rainbow hue?To be found and gathered by me and you;?Wonderful nets for the joy of making 'em.?And scores of shrimps for the trouble of taking 'em;?In fact it isn't half bad--now is it?--?When Robin the Sea-boy pays his visit.?And perhaps he will tire of his shape and habit?And change and turn to a frisky