A three-skysail yarder with her hatches battened down,
And the grey sky up above her, and the Mersey’s muddy brown
A-rippling at her forefoot. The red stack tug’s ahead,
And the chanteyman is singing in a voice to wake the dead.
The windlass pawls are clanking. The mate shouts “Heave away!
Heave a pawl there! Rouse and lift her” Out beyond the bar the spray,
The wheeling gulls, and the cold green water
Are waiting for the coming of the sea’s tall daughter.
We’ve lowered away Blue Peter, and the anchor’s off the mud,
And there’s cheering, and there’s laughter, and the tide is at the flood.
“Heave away there! Loose those tops’ls! Stamp and run!”
Bawls the chief mate. Comes a glimmer from the sun,
And her lofty spars are shining through the smoke a-blowing past,
While a little sea apprentice chap is running up each mast.
Now he’s out along the footrope, now he’s casting loose her sail,
And the pilot shakes the skipper’s hand and clambers o’er the rail.
Now we’re hauling in the hawser, for her six big tops’ls draw,
And her white wake trails behind her. Ho, we’re running from the shore!
A three-skysail yarder with her holds jammed full,
And a cheer from the pierhead for the pride o’ Liverpool!
(Bill Adams)
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Based on Topics: Past Poems, Water Poems, Pride Poems, Running Poems, Laughter Poems, Daughters PoemsBased on Keywords: apprentice, hauling, windlass, hatches, battened, liverpool, clambers, hawser, mersey, bawls, a-blowing