Quotes about ship., page 19
The Hulk
Now, 'ere's my tip
Fer the Fusion ship,
An' I tells it straight an' square.
I'm a rare old tar
As nigh an' far
You'll not meet ev'rywhere.
I've seen 'er sail
In many a gale,
But she's done 'er final trip;
So I 'itches me breeches, an' a simple tale I pitches
O' this good ole Fusion ship.
'Twas Alf an' Joe,
Long years ago,
They built 'er any 'ow.
Twas a strange ole skiff
With 'er keel skew-wiff,
An' a double-ended bow.
Yus, a nose each end,
An' a grecian bend
Amidships, quaint an' queer.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Old Cruiser
HERE 's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.
Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!
Comes a vessel out of the dock
Fresh and spry as a fighting-cock,
Feathered with sails and spurred with steam,
Heading out of the classic stream.
Crew of a hundred all aboard,
Every man as fine as a lord.
Gay they look and proud they feel,
Bowling along on even keel.
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Beowulf's Expedition To Heort
Thus then, much care-worn,
The son of Healfden
Sorrowed evermore,
Nor might the prudent hero
His woes avert.
The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.
This from home heard
Higelac's Thane,
Good among the Goths,
Grendel's deeds.
He was of mankind
In might the strongest,
At that day
Of this life,
Noble and stalwart.
He bade him a sea-ship,
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Three Kings of Chickeraboo
There were three niggers of Chickeraboo -
PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, POPCHOP - who
Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day,
"Oh, let's be kings in a humble way."
The first was a highly-accomplished "bones,"
The next elicited banjo tones,
The third was a quiet, retiring chap,
Who danced an excellent break-down "flap."
"We niggers," said they, "have formed a plan
By which, whenever we like, we can
Extemporise kingdoms near the beach,
And then we'll collar a kingdom each.
"Three casks, from somebody else's stores,
Shall represent our island shores,
Their sides the ocean wide shall lave,
Their heads just topping the briny wave.
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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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A Tryst
From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took it away,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.
At whose command? Who bade it sail the deep
With that resistless force?
Who made the dread appointment it must keep?
Who traced its awful course?
To the warm airs that stir in the sweet South,
A good ship spread her sails;
Stately she passed beyond the harbor's mouth,
Chased by the favoring gales;
And on her ample decks a happy crowd
Bade the fair land good-by;
Clear shone the day, with not a single cloud
In all the peaceful sky.
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poem by Celia Thaxter
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The Two Ships
On the sea of life they floated,
Brothers twain in manhood's pride,
And the good ship 'Temperance' bore them,
Safely o'er the stormy tide.
Not a thought of rock or breaker,
Not a fear of wreck had they,
For their ship was strong and steady-
Faithful, trusty, night and day.
So they floated on together,
Full of youth's elastic joy,
Floated till the air was startled
With the cry of 'Boat ahoy!'
And they saw a craft beside them,
Dainty, jaunty, frail, and fair,
And its banner showed a wine-glass,
Painted as its symbol there.
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Wreck of the Steamer Mohegan
Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
And I'll relate a terrible tale of the sea
Concerning the unfortunate steamer, Mohegan,
That against the Manacles Rocks, ran.
'Twas on Friday, the 14th of October, in the year of ninety-eight,
Which alas! must have been a dreadful sight;
She sailed out of the river Thames on Thursday,
While the hearts of the passengers felt light and gay.
And on board there were 133 passengers and crew,
And each one happier than another seemingly to view;
When suddenly the ship received some terrible shocks,
Until at last she ran against the Manacles Rocks.
Dinner was just over when the shock took place,
Which caused fear to be depicted in every face;
Because the ship was ripped open, and the water rushed in,
It was most dreadful to hear, it much such a terrific din.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Soul’s Mutiny
I saw a galley passing to the West,
Its silken sails aglow as if with blood,
When the red sun dropped down into his nest,
And hurled his level spears across the flood.
And at its prow a mighty woman stood
With braided locks of blackest ebony,
While from the thick--fringed eyes her haughty mood
Flashed forth in all disdainful majesty.
For she was tall and vestured like a queen,
And from her shoulders in imperial fold
A stripèd tunic, wrought of black and green
With strange device of dragons manifold,
Fell to her waist and rippled o'er with gold,
Where caught up in a girdle loosely bound,
Then freely down in potent masses rolled
And clung about her feet and clasped the ground.
And ever and anon, with gracious smile
Lighting the royal sculpture of her face,
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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Wreck of the Barque Wm. Paterson of Liverpool
Ye landsmen all attend my verse, and I'll tell to ye a tale
Concerning the barque "Wm. Paterson" that was lost in a tempestuous gale;
She was on a voyage from Bangkok to the Clyde with a cargo of Teakwood,
And the crew numbered Fifteen in all of seamen firm and good.
'Twas on the 11th of March, when a violent gale from the southward broke out,
And for nine days during tempestuous weather their ship was tossed about
By the angry sea, and the barque she sprang a leak,
Still the crew wrought at the pumps till their hearts were like to break.
And the pumps were kept constantly going for fourteen long hours,
And the poor men were drenched to the skin with sea spray showers;
Still they wrougnt at the pumps till they became rather clogged
Until at last the barque became thoroughly water-logged.
Oh! hard was the fate of these brave men,
While the water did rush in from stern to stem,
Poor souls,'twas enough to have driven them frantic,
To be drifting about water-logged in the Atlantic. At last she became unmanageable and her masts had to be cut away,
Which the brave crew performed quickly without delay;
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Stoker
His eyes could pierce my very soul
His scowl could match my frown,
His hatred seemed to lurk beneath
The coal dust on his brow,
The stoker of the 'Antic Queen'
Was sallow, hollow-cheeked,
A voice that echoed, like the clang
Of echoes, from the deep.
He worked the vessel's engine room
Built up a head of steam,
He sprayed each layer of coal across
Like someone in a dream,
It glowed white-hot, he'd slam the door
And cast his shovel clear,
'A pox upon you, Derek Sloane, '
He'd call, when I was near.
I'd make believe I didn't hear,
Go through the bulkhead door
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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