Out of the East came gaunt razees of commerce
    Troubling the dappled azure of the seas;
    While sleeping marsh awoke, and vanished under
    The thrusting open fingers of the quays.

    Ever, and more, came ships, while others followed. 
    Feeling their way among unsounded bars,
    Heaping their freights upon the groaning wharf-heads,
    Filling their holds with turpentines and tars,
    Until the little twisting streets all vanished
    Into a blur of interwoven spars.

    II

    One with the rest, I saw the commerce dwindle,
    High-bosomed, sturdy vessels take the main
    And leave us, with the morning in their faces,
    Never to come to any port again. 
    Slowly an ominous and pregnant silence
    Grew deep upon the wharves where ships had lain.

    Laughter rang hollow in those days of waiting,
    And nameless fears came drifting down the night. 
    The tides swung in from sea, hung, and retreated,
    Bearing their secrets back beyond our sight;
    Till, like the sudden rending of a curtain,
    The East reeled with the lightnings of a fight.

    Never was a night so long with waiting. 
    Never was the dark more prone to stay. 
    And, in the whispering gloom, taut, listening faces
    Hung in a pallid line along the bay. 
    Slowly at last the mists dissolved, revealing
    A fearful silhouette against the day.

    Blue on a saffron dawn, a frigate lifted
    Out of the fog that veiled her fold on fold,
    Taking the early sunlight on her cannon
    In running spurts and rings of molten gold;
    No flag of any nation at her masthead. 
    Small wonder that our pulses fluttered cold.

    Never a shot she fired on the city,
    But, when the night came blowing in from sea,
    And our ruddy windows warmed the darkness,
    Through the surrounding gloom we heard the free
    Strong sweep and clank of rowing in the harbor,
    And on the wharves raw jest and revelry.

    She was the first, but many others followed;
    Insolent, keen, and swift to come-about,
    I have seen them go smashing down the harbor,
    Loud with the boom of canvas and the shout
    Of lusty voices at the crowded bulwarks,
    Where tattooed hands were swinging long-boats out.

    Up through the streets the roisterers would swagger,
    Filling the narrow ways from wall to wall,
    Scattering gold like ringing summer showers,
    Ready with song and jest and cheery call
    For those who passed; buying the little taverns
    At any cost; opening wine for all.

    There were rare evenings when we used to gather
    Down in a coffee-house beside the square. 
    Morgan knew well our little favored corner;
    Black Beard the sinister was often there;
    And we have watched the night blur into morning
    While Bonnet, quiet-voiced and debonnaire,