On the Old Coast Tub

Blast from the winter. Wrack-wood and splinter
Adrift in the smother of roaring lee shore:
And a blunt-nosed old coaster; some ancient sea-wagon,
Sweeps in from the fog no more--no more,
Rolls in from the sea no more.

Bricks make her load and New York her destination.
(Dern yer hide, ye snoozer, keep a-pumping there, I say!)
Bricks for a cargo and she leaks like thunderation,
And the gulls a-trailin' after like the buzzards sniffin' prey!
Pump away!
And ev'ry brick a-soakin' in her innards growls and grates;
She hesitates--she balks and waits,
And holy hawse-pipe, how she hates
To leave Penobscot Bay!

Pounce! On her bows leap the combers like a tiger-cat,
(Lift 'er on the handle, there, you loafer, pump away!)

Lurch! Reels her gait, and her sloshin' scuppers hiccup at
The sight of drunken breakers fightin' past
'er up the bay.
Pump, I say!
Oh, give her all the rotten sail her leary masts will lug.
Ka-chig, ka-chug; her ugly mug
Rolls orkord as a driftin' jug,
And so we slosh away.

Grub to last a week, a quadrant and an almanick;
(Wag 'er there, you rascal, wag 'er lively there, I say!)
Rotten are her sails and her hold a-roar with shiftin' brick,
--Ain't we up ag'inst it if a norther comes our way?
Pump, I say!
Stagger down, ye bloated drunkard, wheel and take the starboard tack!
Ka-slup, ka-smack, now work 'er back,
Jest hear that old black canvas crack.
Ho! Davy Jones, hooray!

Black cordage tangled, dead features mangled,
Adrift in the smother of roaring lee shore.
And a blunt-nosed old coaster; some broad-bellied wagon
Sweeps in from the sea no more
--Rolls in from the sea no more,
--no more.