WE brought our old tub over
With lumber, from the Sound
One sinner jammed and crippled,
A silly bo’sun drowned;
The shipping papers published
These items in their news
As half-a-score of sinners
Got out upon the booze.
Going large in Flinders Street
Full of Melbourne rum
All except the bo’sun
Safe in Kingdom Come;
All except the bo’sun
Resting deep and sound —
Seaweed in his whiskers,
And fishes swimmin’ round.
“Ve go and haf our Gristmass,”
Says Olafsen, the Dane.
“Ve get as trunk as plazes,
Und never ship again;
Ve preak der plasted record,
Ve ail-so preak our leave,
Und gif der plasted skipper
Some tings to make him grieve!”
The Sun beyond the Yarra
Went reeling to his bed;
The lamp-posts danced cotillions
The drunkest one ahead;
And when the Day was ended,
Above the cable cars
And whirling trams, collided
A multitude of stars.
She said she lived at Carlton
Wherever that might be —
She “didn’t take to sailors
But somehow fancied me”:
And some strange Dago wanted
To stick me with his knife,
All in the public parlour,
To spill my precious life!
I’ve sometimes found a bottle
A useful sort of thing
To grab where rows are started,
And other whiles to fling;
I swung a full M’Ewan,
And when they cleared the deck
Meg’s arms were gently clinging
What-ho! around my neck.
There’s nothing like a shindy,
With just a smell o’ blood,
To rouse the latent instincts
Of gentle Womanhood;
When Paris was a village
Of fighting Eskimo,
When London was a covent
The Law was written so.
And since the savage nations
Grew civilized and tame,
Below the paint and varnish
The Law remains the same.
The heir of Christian meekness
When missiles start to hurl,
He mostly gets the bottle —
The Pagan gets the Girl!
So Meg and I were lovers
Three summer months or more,
A-billing and a-cooing
Like dicky birds ashore;
Her hair was black and wavy,
Her eyes were hazel-brown —
A pearl of tribulation
Was Meg o’ Melbourne town.
“You mustn’t go a-roving,
A-roving on the Sea,
But chuck the game for ever
And bide, dear heart, with me.”
“I will not go a-roving,
I’ll stay ashore with you,
I’ve known some other women,
But this is Love and true!”
“We’ll rent a little cottage
With garden plot and stove,
And all night long we’ll sugar
Our brimming cup of Love!”
She witched me with a whisper,
She snared me with a touch —
Two wives across the water,
They didn’t matter much.
I took a little shanty
Way out in Williamstown,
And Meg and I were married,
What-ho! and settled down,
And seven bob at lumping
A day I sometimes made,
Yes, seven bob at lumping —
A most ungodly trade.
The story has a sequel,
Most stories of the kind,
In spite of priest or parson,
Are bound to have, you’ll find;
For all the planet over,
From Cuba to Japan,
The ancient law was written
Of Woman and of Man.
She “didn’t care for sailors”
Exceptions prove the rule
She played the fickle lady,
I played the howling fool;
“Three months without the option”
The landsmen know the law;
I never studied statutes,
And broke her landsman’s jaw.
I burst the happy dove-cage,
A woeful deed to do,
But other brutes have done it;
And so, mayhap, might you;
If, witched by hair of splendour
And snared by eyes of brown,
You saw good resolutions
Go bung in Melbourne town.
The Lover and his Lady,
The Dove-cot and the Dream,
A little drip of Heaven,
A little sip of cream,
The Jay-hawk and the Pigeon,
Since e’er the World began
‘Two women’ spell Gehenna —
Likewise, ‘another man.’
The story wears a sequel,
And deep of hull she lies
With maze of spars and cordage
Uprearing to the skies;
And empty slop-chests for’ard
And empty pockets here —
Oh, sing the same old ditty,
“The Lover and his Dear!”
The brave new winch is clanging
A rusty capstan song,
And hi! ye sons of … Someone,
Get up and shift along!
Get up, ye sore-head sinners,
And haul your shore-lines home,
To-night we’ll set the watches
Across the Tasman foam.
Oh, “Whisky for my Johnny,”
And oh, the steady breeze,
To bulge her snowy tops’ls
And lilt her through the seas;
The cook about the galley,
Importantly he goes,
And from his flesh-pots steaming
A reeking fragrance flows.
The sun beyond the Yarra
Sinks steadily to bed;
The stars in tens of thousands
Shine soberly o’erhead;
And Meg, with hair of splendour,
And eyes of hazel-brown,
Will find her consolation
To-night in Melbourne town.
(Edwin James Brady)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Life Poems, World Poems, Sadness Poems, Heaven Poems, Dreams Poems, Christianity Poems, Home Poems, Happiness Poems, Woman PoemsBased on Keywords: civilized, instincts, ungodly, cuba, missiles, option, cordage, swimmin, resolutions, soberly, landsmen