THE SONG OF THE BANJO
81
With my 'Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!'
[O the green that thunders aft along the deck!]
Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again,
For it's 'Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!'
Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear—
Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel—
Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer—
Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal:
Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow,
Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine,
So I lead my reckless children from below
Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine.
With my 'Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!'
