“O my hearties, yo heave ho! 
  Anchor’s up in Jolly Bay—­
  Hey! 
  Pipes and swipes, hob and nob—­
  Hey! 
  Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg,
  Paddle over Jolly Bay—­
  Hey! 
  Tars, haul in for Christmas Day,
  For round the ’varsal deep we go;
  Never church, never bell,
  For to tell
  Of Christmas Day. 
  Yo heave ho, my hearties O! 
  Haul in, mates, here we lay—­
  Hey!”

  His sword is rusting in its sheath,
    His flag furled on the wall;
  We’ll twine them with a holly-wreath,
    With green leaves cover all.

  So clink and drink when falls the eve;
    But, comrades, hide from me
  Their graves—­I would not see them heave
    Beside me, like the sea.

  Let not my brothers come again,
    As men dead in their prime;
  Then hold my hands, forget my pain,
    And strike the Christmas chime.

  March.

  Ho, wind of March, speed over sea,
    From mountains where the snows lie deep
    The cruel glaciers threatening creep,
  And witness this, my jubilee!

  Roar from the surf of boreal isles,
    Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps,
    Where the destroyer never sleeps;
  Ring through the iceberg’s Gothic piles!

  Voyage through space with your wild train,
    Harping its shrillest, searching tone,
    Or wailing deep its ancient moan,
  And learn how impotent your reign.

  Then hover by this garden bed,
    With all your wilful power, behold,
    Just breaking from the leafy mould,
  My little primrose lift its head!

THE SPRING AFAR.

  Far from the empire of my present days,
    Where I perforce remain,
  The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro,
    Piping out Winter’s reign.

  I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds
    Above the leafy mould,
  And pollard willows over shallow pools
    Stretch out their rods of gold.

  I hear the waters in the mossy swamps
    Start on their ocean quest,
  Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods,
    Till reaching final rest.

  Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote,
    Though Spring cannot endow
  As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn’s peace: 
    ’T is that my heart needs now;

  Or hope—­maybe that Spring and Hope are one. 
    Therefore I should not ask
  For leave from this my place:  both may be near,
    Behind my daily mask.

  Why?

  Why did I go where roses grew,
  And meadow larks which skyward flew
  From grasses sparkling in the dew,
  The yellow sunshine pouring through? 
  What was there for me to find? 
  Were they to learn my froward mind? 
  From far across vast summer seas,
  Rifling green marshes, bending trees,
  Driving cloud-shadows down the air,
  Keen breezes smote me here and there,
  Keen breezes crying, Why, why, why? 
  And nothing had I to reply! 
  Beings with neither soul nor sense,
  Convicting me with their pretence;
  Beings of change,—­but what am I,—­
  Once more repeating, Why, why, why?