he following lines have been kindly sent us by Professor E. H. Palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend’s yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms.
The Shipwreck.
“Upon the poop the captain stands, As starboard as may be; And pipes on deck the topsail hands To reef the top-sail-gallant strands Across the briny sea. ‘Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!’ The captain loudly cried; ‘Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay! For we must luff for Falmouth Bay Before to-morrow’s tide.’ The good ship was a racing yawl, A spare-rigged schooner sloop, Athwart the bows the taffrails all In grummets gay appeared to fall, To deck the mainsail poop. But ere they made the Foreland Light, And Deal was left behind; The wind it blew great gales that night, And blew the doughty captain tight, Full three sheets in the wind. And right across the tiller head The horse it ran apace, Whereon a traveller hitched and sped Along the jib and vanishéd To heave the trysail brace. What ship could live in such a sea! What vessel bear the shock? ‘Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee! Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, With many a running block!’ And right upon the Scilly Isles The ship had run aground; When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, And slews the compass round. ‘Saved! saved!’ with joy the sailors cry, And scandalise the skiff; As taut and hoisted high and dry They see the ship unstoppered lie Upon the sea-girt cliff. And since that day in Falmouth Bay, As herring-fishers trawl, The younkers hear the boatswains say How Captain Giles that awful day Preserved the sinking yawl.”
Mr. Charles G. Leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines “the finest and daintiest nonsense” he ever read:
“Thy heart is like some icy lake, On whose cold brink I stand; Oh, buckle on my spirit’s skate, And lead, thou living saint, the way To where the ice is thin— That it may break beneath my feet And let a lover in!”
A short time ago in the new series of Household Words, a prize was offered for the writing of Nonsense Verses of eight lines. Of the lines sent in by the competitors we give three specimens:
“How many strive to force a way Where none can go save those who pay, To verdant plains of soft delight The homage of the silent night, When countless stars from pole to pole Around the earth unceasing roll In roseate shadow’s silvery hue, Shine forth and gild the morning dew.” —Arym.
“And must we really part for good, But meet again here where we’ve stood? No more delightful trysting-place, We’ve watched sweet Nature’s smiling face. No more the landscape’s lovely brow, Exchange our mutual breathing vow. Then should the twilight draw around No loving interchange of sound.” —Culver.
“Less for renown than innate love, These to my wish must recreant prove; Nor whilst an impulse here remain, Can ever hope the soul to gain; For memory scanning all the past, Relaxes her firm bonds at last, And gives to candour all the grace The heart can in its temple trace.” —Dum Spiro Spero.
