The Night of the White Review

The mandate that summons them nobody knows,
Nor whose is the mystical word
That bids the vast breast of the ocean unclose,
When the depths are so eerily stirred.
There are omens of ocean and portents of sky
That the eyes of the banksman may read;
The wind tells its menace by moan or a sigh
To any one giving it heed.
Yet, fathom the whorl of a cloud though he may--
Interpret the purr of the sea--
No weatherwise fisherman truly may say
When the Drift of the Drowned shall be.
This alone we know:
Ere days of the autumn blow,
Up from the swaying ocean deeps appears the grisly show.
And woe to the fated crew
Who behold it passing through--
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester fleets on the Night of the White Review.
Whence issue these fleets for their grim rendewous
And their hideous cruise, who may know?
Yet they traverse the Banks ere the winter storms brew,
Their pennon the banner of woe.
We know that from Quero far west to the
Shoals.-
The prodigal bottom is spread
With bones and with timbers--"Went down with all souls,"
Tells the story of Gloucester's dead.
And up with those souls come those vessels again
On that mystical eve in the fall;
Then out of the night to the terror of men
They sail with the fog for a pall.
And down the swimming deep,
As the fishers lie asleep,
These craft loom out of the great, black night, and past the living sweep.
And woe to that fated crew
Who behold them passing through--
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester fleets on the Night of the White Review.
Now here and now yonder some helmsman sings hail
As the awful procession stalks past,
And the horrified crew tumbles up to the rail
To gaze on the marvel, aghast.
And then through that night, when the fishers ride near,
There's a hail and a husky halloo:
"Did you see"--and the voice has a quiver of fear--
"Did you see the White Banksmen sail through?"
There are those who may see them--and those who may not,
Though they peer to the depths of the night;
Ah, ye who behold them, alas for the lot
That grants you such ominous sight.
It augurs death and dole--
That the Gloucester bells will toll--
Means another stone on Windmill Hill: "Went down with every soul."
For it's woe to that fated creva
Who behold them passing through--
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester -fleets on the Night of the White Review.
'Tis a mournful monition from those gone before--
That phantom procession of Fate;
But'tis only the craven that flees to the shore,
For the fisher must work and must wait--
Must wait for the storm that shall carry him down,
Must work with his dory and trawl;
There are women and babies in Gloucester town
Who are hungry. So God for us all 1
Though mystic and silent and pallid and weird
Those ominous Banksmen may roam,
Though Death trails above them, where'er they are steered,
We'll work for the babies at home.
The Banks will claim their toll,
And Fate makes up the roll
Of those with the humble epitaph: "Went dozen with every soul."
And it's woe to that fated crew
Who behold them passing through--
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester fleets on the Night of the White Review.