To be drowned or be shot
Is our natural lot,
Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end—­
After all our great pains
For to dangle in chains
As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?

‘WHEN THE GREAT ARK’

When the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay,
  Rode stately through the half-manned fleet,
From every ship about her way
  She heard the mariners entreat—­
’Before we take the seas again,
Let down your boats and send us men!

’We have no lack of victual here
  With work—­God knows!—­enough for all,
To hand and reef and watch and steer,
  Because our present strength is small. 
While your three decks are crowded so
Your crews can scarcely stand or go.

’In war, your numbers do but raise
  Confusion and divided will;
In storm, the mindless deep obeys
  Not multitudes but single skill;
In calm, your numbers, closely pressed. 
Do breed a mutiny or pest.

’We, even on unchallenged seas,
  Dare not adventure where we would,
But forfeit brave advantages
  For lack of men to make ’em good;
Whereby, to England’s double cost. 
Honour and profit both are lost!’

PROPHETS AT HOME

Prophets have honour all over the Earth,
  Except in the village where they were born. 
Where such as knew them boys from birth,
  Nature-ally hold ’em in scorn.

When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,
  They make a won’erful grievance of it;
(You can see by their writings how they complain),
  But O, ’tis won’erful good for the Prophet!

There’s nothing Nineveh Town can give
  (Nor being swallowed by whales between),
Makes up for the place where a man’s folk live,
  Which don’t care nothing what he has been. 
He might ha’ been that, or he might ha’ been this,
  But they love and they hate him for what he is.

JUBAL AND TUBAL CAIN

Jubal sang of the Wrath of God
  And the curse of thistle and thorn—­
But Tubal got him a pointed rod,
  And scrabbled the earth for corn. 
  Old—­old as that early mould,
    Young as the sprouting grain—­
  Yearly green is the strife between
    Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the new-found sea,
  And the love that its waves divide—­
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree
  And passed to the further side. 
  Black—­black as the hurricane-wrack,
    Salt as the under-main—­
  Bitter and cold is the hate they hold—­
    Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the golden years
  When wars and wounds shall cease—­
But Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears
  And showed his neighbours peace. 
  New—­new as the Nine point Two,
    Older than Lamech’s slain—­
  Roaring and loud is the feud avowed
    Twix’ Jubal and Tubal Cain!