I have slipped my cable, messmates, I’m drifting down with the tide

I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride

And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea

With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free

Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge

Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge

Cries Charnock, “Scattеr the faggots, double that Brahmin in two

The tall palе widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!”

Young Joe (you’re nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark?

Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours? — Why, hark!

The morning gun — Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!, The

I ha’ sounded the Dutch High Admiral’s heart as my lead doth sound the sea

Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide

Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride

My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you;

Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue