The Old Waterway.

Bold ships of the sealers, beating to the Solanders,
Tall-masted Frenchmen; brigs of old Dundee,
Square - shouldered whale - ships, six months out of Nantucket,
Never more their bluff bows shall cleave the Southern Sea.
Never more the whale-ships, from forefoot to rigging,
Flickering in the try-works’ murky leaping glare,
Drive before the night wind, like wild ships out of Hades,
Lighting all the waters with their savage flare.
Never more the gambling in the shore-way grog shops,
And dicing, and drinking, with the rum casks drawn.
And fighting, and laughter, and drunken voices singing.
And the trade ships from Sydney standing in the dawn.
But if some moonless midnight, all ships returned to anchor.
Sealer, brig, and whale-boat, how close we'd see them lie!
With pale crews, for look-out, and Steersman, and captain,
And pale seagulls circling the masts against the sky.

—Joyce West.