The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/Songe of the Schippe
Songe of the Schippe.
When surly windes and grewsome cloudes
Are tilting in the skye,
And every little star's abed,
That glimmered cheerilie—
O then 'tis meet for mariners
To steer righte carefulie!
For mermaides sing the schippman's dirge,
Where ocean weddes the skye—
A blessing on our gude schippe as lustilie she sailes,
O what can match our gude schippe when blest with
favouring gales!
Blythely to the tall top-mast,
Up springs the sailor boy—
Could he but hail a distant port,
How he would leap with joy!
By bending yard and rope he swings—
A fair-haired child of glee—
But oh! a cruel sawcie wave
Hath swept him in the sea!
There's sadness in the gude schippe that breasts the waters wild,
Though safe ourselves we'll think with tears of our poor ocean-child!
Our main-mast now is clean cut downe,
The tackle torn away—
And thundering o'er the stout schippe's side,
The seas make fearful play!
Yet cheerlie cheerlie on we go,
Though fierce the tempest raves,
We know the hand unseen that guides
The schippe o'er stormie waves!
We'll all still stand by the old schippe as should a trusty crew,
For He who rules the wasting waves may some port bring to view!
Our gude schippe is a shapely schippe—
A shapely and a stronge—
Our hearts sang to our noble schippe,
As she careered along!
And fear ye not my sturdy mates
Though sayles and masts be riven—
We know, while drifting o'er the deep,
Above there's still a haven!
Though sorely we're benighted upon the weltering foam,
The sun may rise upon the morn and guide us to a home!