But the Earl called down from the kicking tiller-head, "Six hands lay along to me! Tumble out the hawsers there, Skallagrim the Red! For a battle with a Berserk sea; Sing a song of work, of a well-stayed mast, Of clinch and rivet and pine, Of a bull's-hide sail we can carry to the last Of a well-built ship like mine. Never mind the Runes on the bending tree Or the charms on the tiller that I hold, Trust to your hands and the Makers of the Sea, To the gods of the Viking bold! _Thor of the Hammer-- King of the Warriors, We are not thralls here --Men of the sea; We are not idle, Fight we as seamen, Worthy your aid then --Men of the Sea!"_ OVERDUE OVERDUE. In the evening--in the sunset--when the long day dies, Out across the broad Atlantic, where the great seas go, When the Golden Gates are open and the sunlight flies, The fairy Islands drift and fade against the crimson glow. In the evening, when the fiery sun was sinking in the West, St Brandan and the chosen few went sailing out to sea,-- To the Westward--to the sunset--to the Golden Isle of rest, The haven of the weary men, the land of Fairie. Is it only in the sunset we may find the Golden Fleece? Is it only to the Westward that the Fairyland is found? And those who went away from us and passed from war to peace-- Are they looking still for Fairyland the wide world round? Then as I gazed across the dark the morning answer came-- To Eastward stretched the golden sea for many a golden mile; The far horizon joined the sky in dancing lines of flame-- And drifting on the seas of dawn, I saw St Brandan's Isle. PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. End of Project Gutenberg's On Patrol, by John Graham Bower and Klaxon