Drake Sings of Yesterday -- REH Poem
Mar 4, 2016 22:20:37 GMT -5
Post by themirrorthief on Mar 4, 2016 22:20:37 GMT -5
DRAKE SINGS OF YESTERDAY
by Robert E. Howard
On Devon downs I met the ghost of Drake;
His sigh was like a wind that whispered past
The barnacles encrust the rotting strake
And sea-weed shrines the fallen mizzen-mast .
The sword of glory long has turned to rust.
And shattered now the prows that years of yore
Beat up the sunset through the blinding gust
That lashed us off the magic Carib shore.
The glory and the glamor and the glee.
The raiding and the roving and the rage.
Have faded like the smoke upon the sea.
And History turns down another page.
Where are the bawcoaks and the bullies bold.
The swaggerers , the rufflers, all of they
Who strutted on the deck and filled the hold
With silk and spice and yellow Spanish gold.
The loot of Indies, Darien and Cathay?
Oh, frown upon their deeds if so ye will.
And name them crimson handed, black of heart---
They braved the unknown world and had their fill
Of death and danger where the sunsets spill
Unreckoned perils ; and they took their part
Of cannonade and cutlass, wind and rack.
They paved the way for ye who were to come.
And ye who followed rode a beaten track
Oh, winds that set our rigging all a-hum!
Oh, tides that gripped our prows on unmapped seas!
Oh, galleons that loomed against the dawn!
Oh, battle -thunder off the wide, white leas.
Oh, hissing cutlass backed by English brawn!
Oh, plunder from the shattered cargoes drawn!
Boots of Cordovan leather, silken sash,
Damascus steel, doubloons and silver plate;
Rough carven gems to match the starlight's flash.
And gold moidores and many a piece-of -eight .
Tuns of. brown ale and barrels of black rum.
And many a pipe of sharp Canary wine;
Toledo blades that shimmer, gleam and hum.
And bales of spice and gods of strange design.
Oh, dreams that grip and cut me like a knife!
Let others rest in slumber and in death
J cannot sleep; I need the sting of life.
The pounding of the veins, the fire, the strife.
The slashing spray, the sea-wind's blasting breath!
The joy, the pain, the peril, heat and snow.
The tavern, and the ale at Plymouth Hoe.
I may not rest in Nombre Dios Bay
Up through the emerald fathoms I arise
When night reels up to drink the dying day
And stars are silver daggers in the skies.
And night on night, I live it all again
My boyhood, manhood Devon and the Main!
I met the ghost of Drake one Devon night;
He sang of sail and sword and rover's bench
And in his eyes there gleamed the Magic Light
Of Deathless Life not even Death can quench.
by Robert E. Howard
On Devon downs I met the ghost of Drake;
His sigh was like a wind that whispered past
The barnacles encrust the rotting strake
And sea-weed shrines the fallen mizzen-mast .
The sword of glory long has turned to rust.
And shattered now the prows that years of yore
Beat up the sunset through the blinding gust
That lashed us off the magic Carib shore.
The glory and the glamor and the glee.
The raiding and the roving and the rage.
Have faded like the smoke upon the sea.
And History turns down another page.
Where are the bawcoaks and the bullies bold.
The swaggerers , the rufflers, all of they
Who strutted on the deck and filled the hold
With silk and spice and yellow Spanish gold.
The loot of Indies, Darien and Cathay?
Oh, frown upon their deeds if so ye will.
And name them crimson handed, black of heart---
They braved the unknown world and had their fill
Of death and danger where the sunsets spill
Unreckoned perils ; and they took their part
Of cannonade and cutlass, wind and rack.
They paved the way for ye who were to come.
And ye who followed rode a beaten track
Oh, winds that set our rigging all a-hum!
Oh, tides that gripped our prows on unmapped seas!
Oh, galleons that loomed against the dawn!
Oh, battle -thunder off the wide, white leas.
Oh, hissing cutlass backed by English brawn!
Oh, plunder from the shattered cargoes drawn!
Boots of Cordovan leather, silken sash,
Damascus steel, doubloons and silver plate;
Rough carven gems to match the starlight's flash.
And gold moidores and many a piece-of -eight .
Tuns of. brown ale and barrels of black rum.
And many a pipe of sharp Canary wine;
Toledo blades that shimmer, gleam and hum.
And bales of spice and gods of strange design.
Oh, dreams that grip and cut me like a knife!
Let others rest in slumber and in death
J cannot sleep; I need the sting of life.
The pounding of the veins, the fire, the strife.
The slashing spray, the sea-wind's blasting breath!
The joy, the pain, the peril, heat and snow.
The tavern, and the ale at Plymouth Hoe.
I may not rest in Nombre Dios Bay
Up through the emerald fathoms I arise
When night reels up to drink the dying day
And stars are silver daggers in the skies.
And night on night, I live it all again
My boyhood, manhood Devon and the Main!
I met the ghost of Drake one Devon night;
He sang of sail and sword and rover's bench
And in his eyes there gleamed the Magic Light
Of Deathless Life not even Death can quench.
