O’er the marsh where the homesteads cower apart the harried sunlight flies, Shifts and considers, wanes and recovers, scatters and sickens and dies-- An evil ember bedded in ash--a spark blown west by the wind ... We are surrendered to night and the sea--the gale and the tide behind! At the bridge of the lower saltings the cattle gather and blare, Roused by the feet of running men, dazed by the lantern glare. Unbar and let them away for their lives--the levels drown as they stand, Where the flood-wash forces the sluices aback and the ditches deliver inland. Ninefold deep to the top of the dykes the galloping breakers stride, And their overcarried spray is a sea--a sea on the landward side. Coming, like stallions they paw with their hooves, going they snatch with their teeth, Till the bents and the furze and the sand are dragged out, and the old-time wattles beneath! Bid men gather fuel for fire, the tar and the oil and the tow-- Flame we shall need, not smoke, in the dark if the riddled seabanks go. Bid the ringers watch in the tower (who knows what the dawn shall prove?) Each with his rope between his feet and the trembling bells above. Now we can only wait till the day, wait and apportion our shame. These are the dykes our fathers left, but we would not look to the same. Time and again were we warned of the dykes, time and again we delayed: Now, it may fall, we have slain our sons as our fathers we have betrayed. * * * * * Walking along the wreck of the dykes, watching the work of the seas, These were the dykes our fathers made to our great profit and ease; But the peace is gone and the profit is gone, and the old sure day withdrawn ... That our own houses show as strange when we come back in the dawn! THE SONG OF DIEGO VALDEZ [Page 32] The God of Fair Beginnings Hath prospered here my hand-- The cargoes of my lading, And the keels of my command. For out of many ventures That sailed with hope as high, My own have made the better trade, And Admiral am I! To me my King’s much honour, To me my people’s love-- To me the pride of Princes And power all pride above; To me the shouting cities, To me the mob’s refrain:-- ‘Who knows not noble Valdez, Hath never heard of Spain.’ But I remember comrades-- Old playmates on new seas-- Whenas we traded orpiment Among the savages-- A thousand leagues to south’ard And thirty years removed-- They knew not noble Valdez, But me they knew and loved. Then they that found good liquor, They drank it not alone, And they that found fair plunder, They told us every one, About our chosen islands Or secret shoals between, When, walty from far voyage, We gathered to careen.