When the drums begin to beat Down the street, When the poles are fetched and guyed, When the tight-rope's stretched and tied, When the dance-girls make salaam, When the snake-bag wakes alarm, When the pipes set up their drone, When the sharp-edged knives are thrown, When the red-hot coals are shown, To be swallowed by and bye-- _Arre_ Brethren, here come I! Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun, Search me well and watch me close! Tell me how my tricks are done-- Tell me how the mango grows? Give a man who is not made To his trade Swords to fling and catch again, Coins to ring and snatch again, Men to harm and cure again. Snakes to charm and lure again-- He'll be hurt by his own blade, By his serpents disobeyed, By his clumsiness bewrayed, By the people laughed to scorn-- So 'tis not with juggler born! Pinch of dust or withered flower, Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff, Serve his need and shore his power, Bind the spell or loose the laugh! THORKILD'S SONG There's no wind along these seas. _Out oars for Stavanger!_ _Forward all for Stavanger!_ So we must wake the white-ash breeze, _Let fall for Stavanger!_ _A long pull for Stavanger!_ Oh, hear the benches creak and strain! _(A long pull for Stavanger!)_ She thinks she smells the Northland rain! _(A long pull for Stavanger!)_ She thinks she smells the Northland snow, And she's as glad as we to go. She thinks she smells the Northland rime, And the dear dark nights of winter-time. She wants to be at her own home pier, To shift her sails and standing gear. She wants to be in her winter-shed. To strip herself and go to bed. Her very bolts are sick for shore, And we--we want it ten times more! So all you Gods that love brave men, Send us a three-reef gale again! Send us a gale, and watch us come, With close-cropped canvas slashing home! _But_--there's no wind on all these seas, _A long pull for Stavanger!_ So we must wake the white-ash breeze, _A long pull for Stavanger!_ 'ANGUTIVAUN TAINA' Song of the Returning Hunter (Esquimaux). Our gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, Our furs with the drifted snow, As we come in with the seal--the seal! In from the edge of the floe. _An jana! Aua! Oha! Haq!_ And the yelping dog-teams go, And the long whips crack, and the men come back, Back from the edge of the floe! We tracked our seal to his secret place, We heard him scratch below, We made our mark, and we watched beside, Out on the edge of the floe. We raised our lance when he rose to breathe, We drove it downward--so! And we played him thus, and we killed him thus, Out on the edge of the floe. Our gloves are glued with the frozen blood, Our eyes with the drifting snow; But we come back to our wives again, Back from the edge of the floe! _Au jana! Aua! Oha! Haq! And the loaded dog-teams go, And the wives can hear their men come back, Back from the edge of the floe!_ HUNTING-SONG OF THE SEEONEE PACK