China Coast Ballads

O Billy was a gentle boy
An unassuming lad
Who smoked sweet-scented cigarettes
With jas'min tea when bad!
To picnics he was always asked
And ushered at the church
Whilst we and other huskies were
Left outside in the lurch.
Till finally so good was he
So evangelical
He tried to save men of the sea
And sampan girls from hell.
He preached against all human joys
And nightly could be seen
When reading Scripture to the boys
And girlies off Shameen.
But soon we saw the prayer meetings
Called by Billie Boy
Attended less and less until
They left the sleek Ho Toy
A daughter of the outcast hordes
Defeated long ago
And driven to a water life
Where Canton rivers flow-
She kowtowed to her gods each day
The Chin Chin gods we see
When browsing through the muck and mire
Of temples near Sha-kee
A number-one wee Chin Chin girl
No Christian joss was she
But Ho - she had a business eye.
And so she caught Bill-ee!

The sons of Han
And daughters too
May worship as
The Christians do
Their hearts remain
In Buddha's care
More vital is
Their daily fare.

O, what about our sugar
And what about our tea?
Or the cotton and the rubber-
That's raised for you and me?

Can't you see and hear the darkies
A-working in the fields-
Underneath the burning sunshine
For what the cotton yields?

Or, the workers who are weaving
The cloth to clothe mankind
Or the others making implements
Or books to feed the mind?

O, whatever is the meaning
Of all this industry-
That will struggle for a living
Each day for you and me?

'Tis the industry at home and
The industry abroad-
Whether serving God or Mammon-
That is all in one accord-

The evangelist's hand-maiden-
The merchant's ready prop-
Without this firm foundation
Our world would surely stop!

"Go ye forth and spread the Gospel!"
Are words that we know well
But how would this teaching prosper-
If we'd nothing we could sell?

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THE OTHER FELLOW

We've often heard
That fools' faces
Are always seen
In public places
But have we heard
Of all the cases
Of fools we'd send
To other places?

There's the fool says we resemble
A man in Timbuctoo-
And informs our friends assembled
Of tricks that man could do-

And the fool who makes excuses
Not asking us to dine
When we still recall abuses
Once caused by his "old" wine-

And the man who holds up dinner
Is king of fools' estate
What we'd do to such a sinner
We cannot here relate

One who's late to concert coming
And has an inside seat
Or, who's dined so well - starts humming-
That kind is hard to beat

Oh, alas, 'tis such a pity
That fools cause so much fuss
And we wonder why our city
Can't have more folk like us!

Of asses there
Are many kinds
But biggest on the street
Are those who underrate
The minds
Of other men they meet.

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HOW DO YOU READ YOUR PAPER?

O, how do you read your paper
In the morning or at night?
Do you read it like your neighbor
Who will ne'er do things a-right?

Do you glance o'er all the headlines
And then pounce upon your prey
To disclose the latest scandal
Or the horrors of the day?

Do you first look for the cables
In from Germany and France
Or within the social column,
For the latest silly dance?

Do you swallow editorials
And the governmental bills?
Do you read the testimonials
For the kidney cures and pills?

Are you ever caught by titles
Like "What Every Woman Knows
But to find at end instructions
For removing coms from toes?

Do you read the "wanted" columns-
For absorbing human woes-
Learning how the suffering millions
Have to live - how, no one knows?

Or, the latest London market price
Of rice or bonds and stocks?
Or, the movements of the steamers
That will put up at our docks?

When I look at those around me-
I am sure that I can tell-
By the marking on their features-
Of the page that each reads well.

I can tell the crusty fellow
Who will read with frenzied ire
But finds "nothing in the paper"
And then throws it in the fire.

And of one thing I am certain--
Such a welcome sight to greet-
'Tis the happiness of children
Which demands the funny sheet.

O, the paper is a " creature "
With a great and wondrous sight-
It is born anew each morning
And it dies again at night!

Yes, it caters to the masses
And the masses for it pay-
It must satisfy all classes
In their each and every way.

Very often do I wonder
What another man can find
Looking in the "useless" columns
That will never suit my mind.

Then there's one thing I remember-
That this world's a funny place-
And I know what's sauce for others
Will not suit my acid face.

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THE CALL PRIMEVAL

O would I were a flying squirrel
Or e'en a chimpanzee
To swing from branches overhead
And glide from tree to tree
To hang on boughs with ne'er a care
But plucking fruit for mate
To chase and catch - embrace, ensnare-
In this primeval state
Or better far - a panther lithe
To spring upon my prey
To roam alone the hills at night
To browse away the day
Or e'en a tiny warbling bird
To fly about and sing
Such music as the world's ne'er heard
To charm each living thing!
These thoughts don't come whene'er I stroke
My beard - or roam afar-
They're thoughts that come whene'er I smoke
My pipe or my cigar.

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PREDIGESTINATION

Please pardon my suggestion
I've mental indigestion
Persuing all the "digests" of the day
The digest - literary-
The readers' commentary-
And digests of what politicians say.

'Tis woe unto the reader
Who must now be a speeder
Through mazes of our governmental bills-
In tabloid form they hit us
With predigested jitters-
Hell's blazes of our current history's ills.

I suggest in compensation
We digest our conversation
To a minimum of what will do us harm-
Wnile talking to my neighbor-
He used not sword nor sabre
But talked away my trusty starboard arm.

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THE ARCHEOLOGIST OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE

I've always envied excavators
Who travel far and wide
To hunt the dinosaur's eggs
In deserts where they hide-

To open tombs of Egypt's kings
To pry upon their mummies
To rob their queens of wedding rings
To dig and dig for dummies-

To visit Bali and Sumatra
And steal the natives' wives-
Or scale the needle Cleopatra-
Such men lead noble lives.

I've envied Peary, Byrd and Nansen
For going to the Poles
To see the sun for months on end-
Inspiring are such souls.

I've envied those who sail the seas
And visit southern isles-
To loaf and dream in summer breeze-
To bask in sunny smiles.

I too have travelled far alone
I've searched through cranny and nook
To find the rarest species known-
One who returns a book!

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ADVENTURE

Adventure's fine-
I will admit
That I am very
Fond of it-

Detective tales
Make me respond
To one who takes
A million bond-

The stories new or tales of old
On land or on the sea
Of buccaneers and pirates bold
Have great appeal for me-


E'en my Aunt Mary
Prudish spinster
Still hides behind her fan
Avoiding all that
She thinks sinister
Such as every passing man

And yet the old girl
Is a brick
She scolds me when
I'm taking
One night off
But gets a "kick"
From tales of wild
Law breaking.

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WANTED: A NAME!

In our comity of nations
There's a very ancient race
Ever famous for pendragons
Whose fair deeds they would efface-

By a name that they might fit on
To old Albion or Brit
Which would never sound like Brit-on
And a Britisher's not it.

Would Britonian or Britishite
Pronounce with greater ease-
Britishonian might be all right
But never Britishese!

Then there is the Albionite-
And this name alone might please
Or, again we may call and write
Them down as Albionese!

But the Scottish and the Irish
And the Welsh who'd take to Celt,
Would they not object to English
And nuke their objections felt?

Whether Anglican or Welshman
Or, Erinite or Scot-
It is certain that the Irish
Wont give up the name they've got!

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SPARE THE TREES

O, Woodman, spare the tree,
That here doth spread its gentle shade-
Whose gnarled trunk so gloriously
Bespeaks the hearts of man and maid!

When long ago for good or bad,
In bark so young and tender
They carved their names, the maid and lad
He swore he would defend her

Against the wiles and ways of man,
Throughout their lives to be-
So true the compact ran-
And witnessed by this tree.

O, Woodman, spare the tree,
With such a hallowed tale-
Beneath these branches silently
Have I grown old and pale!

Alas, the boy who carved for me,
(Against the wiles of men)
Initials in this lovely tree
He left me there and then

Although he pledged that we should live
Together for alway-
Was it the kiss I did not give
That sent him far away?

O, Woodman, fell the tree
With others that portend
Our hopeless dreams quite shamelessly
With carvings that pretend

To bind a troth twixt man and maid,
And place them side by side
To keep their shadows and their shade
From e'er a would-be bride!

And when collected -all of those
Encarved for troths - a token
As many will you have - who knows-
As there are hearts-not-broken!

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DIGNITY

O waddle on, O waddle on
Through season's rain or shine
Ye penguins have a waddle that
I wish to God were mine-

O waddle on, O waddle on
Through weather foul or fair
Ye penguins' waddle waddle keeps
Your heads up in the air

O waddle on. O waddle on
Ye feathered dignitaries
If ye but had eye glasses on
Ye'd look like secretaries-

O waddle on, O waddle on
Like congressmen on ice
Or penguinistic senators
Ye look so very nice

O waddle on, O waddle on
I wish I knew your thoughts
Ye wear the robe of dignity
Perhaps you're full of naughts

O waddle on, O waddle on
Ye stand the winter's gaff
And look both wise and stupid but
Your waddle makes me laugh.

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NERO THE HERO

Through centuries
Since Rome was burned
The books record
What Nero earned

Old Nero's blamed
Because of harm
That came to Rome
Sans fire alarm

'Twas started by
His adversaries
Because he played
His Stradivaria-

But merely sincerely
He made a mistake
And earned he quite dearly
His rep as a rake

Instead of his fiddle
If bowed with his beads
He'd called on the firemen
To witness his deeds

Commanded the Romans
To kneel and to pray
From ashes would Nero
Be hero today.

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TROPICAL ECSTASY

When flickering sunbeams
Dance o'er the grass
A lake tinkling ice
Within the glass
A symphony
No tongue can tell
That's parched like
A burning hel-
We see the grass
Turn green to brown
And gulp our cooling
Liquor down
We sing of the sea
We sing of the sky
We sing of the planets
That pass us by
We speak of the wonders
Of nature and man
The vastness of China
The charm of Japan
But greater, 0 greater
Than any of these
Is the burning sun setting
Behind the trees.

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ABSENCE

My friend bath gone across the sea,
And homeward I return,
The sea gull's cry depresses me
The foaming billows churn
'Tis Fortune's sorry turn
To take away my friend.

The ocean wide, the drifting tide
Are placed between us now,
And silently as time will glide
To Fate's decree I bow-
To pain I must allow
From absence of my friend.

Each echo is awakening
The deepest thoughts I know,
For every space left void doth ring
With music soft and low-
All tones that come and go
Now shape thee - absent friend.

Of thy great presence I'm bereft
And now I see and feel
That everything thou touched and left
Thy imprint doth reveal
E'en though I try - conceal
This vision of thee, friend.

The open door, the empty chair
The books thou touched with love
And every whisper in the air
And every star above-
The paths we used to rove
All now recall thee-friend.

My prayers forever on will be-
Though years between us burn-
That fortune ever smile on thee
And hasten thy return-
May Neptune once more churn
The waves-Retum, o, friend.

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EXILES

On tropical bays, Far Eastern Seas
Where mystery isles belong-
The rumbling surf in symphonies
Accompanies our song.
In vibrant tones our hearts e'er sing
Enchanting Homeland lays-
Sweet and low and murmuring
To cheer our lonely days-

With lays of olden melody
And childhood lullabies
Our souls are brought in harmony
With worlds of great emprise.
We drift afar in space where dwell
The tones of every glow
Reflected from the sunset spell
We longing exiles know-

And vibrant to the sonant strings
Attuned to every heart
Are chords released on friendship's wings
For loved ones far apart
With songs that are akin to all
In tune with nature's best
Vibrating voices ever call
Our heart-strings home to rest.

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THE FAMILY SHRINE

When travelling up and down this godless land
Through Yangtze valley towns and everywhere
There looms the family shrine on every hand
Where spirits of the ancestors repair.

This link the Orientals keep, alas!
With those who've passed and those who are no more
We Occidentals leave the thoughts of past
And worship what for us life hath in store.

The family shrines - by all the types we know-
Of sturdy mariner or gentle born-
In sacred memory where'er we go-
Are photographs of those from whom we're torn.

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DREAMLINE

The streamline car
The streamline boat
The streamline sink
The streamline coat

The streamline train
The streamline baby
Then still remains
The streamline lady

The streamline spouse
For a streamline life
In a streamline house
With a streamline wife

The streamline face
A streamline skin
Now haunts the space
I travel in

Old-fashioned are
My base desires
I like the good
Old-fashioned fires

Old-fashioned fires
That bum within
A rugged face
With sunburned skin-

A girl with lines
No eel would crave
But lines that make
Me misbehave-

Lines that make me
Dream by day
The Dreamlines that
A lover may

Feel a lover's
Loving thrill
And pay a lover's
Loving bill

Speed mania rules
It is now said
But some things
Are best delayed

Delayed for dreaming
As of yore
Of love as love
Was loved before

The streamline girl's
A sight to see
But the dreamline girl's
The girl for me.

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OUR SYNTHETIC WORLD

Today is yesterday's future
And tomorrow's past.

The synthetic age
Is here at last
The dream of sages
And alchemists past-

The dreams of old
Are reality
With synthetic gold
And synthetic tea.

laboratories
And not the field
Our harvest seeds
In tabloids yield:

Our synthetic wood
And synthetic cloth-
Our synthetic food
And synthetic moth-

The Bombyx moth
Is not required
For rayon got
The silk-worm fired-

The lamb no longer
Need be shorn
For staple fibre
Will be worn-

E'en though each
And every stitch
Will carry it's
Synthetic itch.

With synthetic joy-
Synthetic gin-
We'll next employ
Synthetic sin.

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THE WISDOM OF SATAN

Missie Bubbling Well
In Hop Sing's shop-
"Wanchee one piecee meat
No wanchee bone
No wanchee grizzle
No wanchee fat
No wanchee skin."
Hop Sing talkee
"Missy me thinkee
More better you catchee
One piecee egg."

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EUPHONY

Missy to Number One boy
One day talkee
"Today you talkee Cook
Catchee one piecee pigeon
Dress in aspic
Puttee casserole"-
(Boy him bime-bye talkee)
"Missy me talkee Cook
Cook him talkee me
Velly sorry
No can catchee today
One piecce castor oil."

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CELESTIAL NAVIGATION

Light house:
Him no good
Mebbe fog he come
Light house
No can savvy.

Whistle buoy:
Him no good
Mebbe typhoon come
Whistle buoy
No can hear.

Fog Horn:

Him no good
Plenty time
I makee him blow
Fog he all same come
Stay water top side.

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SHANGHAI WAIF

"No mamma
No papa
No whisky soda
No chow "

Pierced the air
And pierced the din
Of the Shanghai crowd
On road Nankin!

"No mamma
No papa
No brother
No sister "

While nimble fingers
And nimble hand
Juggled four knives
Near the chow-chow stand.

"No mamma
No papa
No dolla
No chow"

Came through the crowd
To the passers by
From the Chinese girl
With a naughty eye.

"No mamma
No paper
No whisky soda
No chow."

Jostled by rickshaws
She cursed them aloud
And juggled four knives
Amusing the crowd.

"No mamma
No papa
No brother
No sister"

Then a big Sikh
Policeman's
Baton
Just missed her.

"No mamma
No papa
No dolla
No chow"

The knives went like magic
Despite the mock bow.
Juggling four chop sticks
She wrinkled her brow.

"No mamma
No papa
No whiskey soda
No chow"

She slipped across
A sailor's path.
A sailor drunk
Who swore his wrath.

"No mamma
No papa
No whiskey soda
No chow"

"Get out of my way
Or I'll kick your pants. "
With grimace she said-
"No have got pants."

"No mamma
No papa
No whiskey soda
No chow "
Ten cents please!

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GOOD OLD WORLD!

I hear
The world's all wrong
And I must confess
That I am in
A hell of a mess

For I have helped
To make the thing
Just to hear
My children sing-
I worked for years
And I was busy
But now the damn thing
Makes me dizzy-

With the grain
God made the chaff
And now nor God
Nor man can laugh
At old or new
Mythology
Without fouling
Ideology-

We've prison bars
And stripes for humor
Supprest beneath
The festering tumor
Of unbalanced budgets-
Of unpaid bills-
Destructire gadgets-
Expensive ills.

The world's not wrong
I must confess-
'Tis man who's in
A hell of a mess.

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THE THOROUGHBRED

The head erect
A charm about the neck
Of lines that make a poem-
Sensitive the nostrils
And well defined the nose
The head is something all its own
In every graceful pose;

The eyes that gaze at me
With such a knowing look
Attract me with their gentleness-
The clearness of a brook-
Sometimes these eyes
Are springs of liquid
Deep as is the soul-
At least
They look that way to me!

The delicate and web-like tracery
Of veins beneath the skin
E'er pulsate with the rise and fall
Of heart throbs from within-
Why say more
Of one whose very presence
Is a charm
Inspiring
E'en the roughest men
To shield such grace from harm?

The artists of all times
Have died to win for art
The secret of these lines of limbs
That draw us to the heart
Of these rare queens of sport-
E'er making sport for kings-
And yet-a stable boy
To kingship may arise
In thought
And in his actions by
The light within
A thoroughbred's
Or lovely woman's eyes.

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BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

She whom I love I must not love;
That she loves me I know-
With love as pure as purest gold
Or as the driven snow.

A tough old dog of war am I,
That she loves me's a shame-
An ugly brute near twice her age
And still she'd take my name.

The more I tell her 'tis not right,
Protest my wickedness-
The more she swears that as my wife
She'd bring me happiness.

O, what to do with maid like this,
Is more than I can tell-
For when she is as old as I
I'll be as old as hell!

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MANY HAPPY RETURNS

Come drink with me but one cup more,
To purge out hearts of sorrow-
We know not what the dawn may store
Within the sad tomorrow!

Dash for a train and make it at last-
Rush through the rain with towns flying past-
Walk on the ceiling - something's gone wrong
Things topsy turvy where I belong!

Out at a station - jump on again-
Cling to the windows - batter my brain-
Jump off a bridge and slide down a precipice
Over a ridge to light on a pretty miss-

Rest on the hand of the maiden so fair
Then try to stand on her sweet scented hair-
Soon brushed aside when the winds come along-
Away on the tide of man's busy throng-

Attracted by odors, dash to a scene
Where rots a carcass of putrid gangrene-
Here try to enter the mouth and the eyes-
Blocked by the buzzing of blue bottle ffies-

See smoke arise far over the wood-
Mecca for flies, a home to the good-
Off with a breeze as straight as an arrow-
Over the trees in track of a sparrow-

Dinner is cooking with fragrance of spice
Know without looking, in there it is nice-
Wait at the screen till someone comes out-
Must not be seen or I'll get a clout-

At last in the pantry, my hunger to break
Delectable sundries for me to partake
Lo, what is this that I am caught in?
Stepping I miss the skin I was wrought in:

A voice from the distance thundering now,
Angry insistence making a row!
Blink with a blink, half open my eyes-
Think with a think, I see the blue skies-

Gads, what a train of thoughts in my head:
The voice bawls again, "You sleep like the dead.
Get up lazy beggar, the house is a sight-
Wish you many happy returns-of the night "

When the head is hot
And lips are parched
And thoughts of the night are with you-
It is time you got
A sip and searched
For a chip of the block that hit you!

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ALIBI JULIUS E.

O,Julius E, as a model he'd be,
And never tell a lie
When caught 'red handed' he'd say when landed,
"So help me God, I'll die!"

O,Julius E, he would flirt would he
With the girls who'd pass him by-
And never admit it, e'en when he was pitted
With the wink still in his eye.

So Julius E, as he never could be
Found guilty of anything harmful-
Was caught in a whirl and he married the girl-
And say but she was an armfull.

O, Julius E, he would practice, would he
An innocent look on his features-
Whene'er he came in he would look without sin,
The saddest and queerest of creatures.

So Julius E, of innocence he
Was guilty and caught in his lair-
No longer he'd try tell his alibi
And so he gave up in dispair. -

Then Julius E, at last we could see
Had made up his mind he would die-
But when he reached Hell, he only could tell
He came with his sin's alibi.

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OLD BILL

When Bill was young
And full of pep
He tried his best
To make a "rep"
But ne'er a "rep"
Bill made - you see-
His youth and pep
Went on a spree!
But now Old Bill
Is good - is he-
He never goes
Out on a spree-
And yet he cannot
Make a "rep "
Because he hasn't
Got the pep!

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AN APPRECIATION OF NOTHING

Nothing is something
With a hole around it
And through the hole
There's a ribbon in it
And when you tie the ribbon it's gone-
That's nothing
That's nothing-

Love at a summer resort
Engaged in by some as a sport
To others-
That's nothing
That's nothing-

A girl sends a boy
For naught but sheer joy
For-get-me-nots
Forget-me-nots
That's nothing
Just nothing-

The boy sends a girl roses
And pretends and proposes
That's nothing
That's nothing-
The hell it is!

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THANK GOD FOR THAT

Poets, turks and bachelors
Have in their verses sung-
That virtues of the many
Are not contained in one-
But ne'er was the poet
Turk, bachelor withal
Thanking lucky stars like I
My girl has not the faults of all.

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WHY NOT?

Why should her eyes not be red,
Or salmon, apricot or pink
E'en lilac, heliotrope, or purple shades
Would add a little zest to life - I think.

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BRUTUS WAS AN HONORABLE MAN!

I read each "wanted column" ad
And what I find there makes me sad-
With head-lines listing "Lost and Found"
(So honest does this caption sound)
I read and find it is a frost-
All of the "ads" are items lost!

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THIS REVOLVING WORLD

Has fortune passed you by this year-
If so good friend pray have no fear-

For like the years that pass us by
And silent planets in the sky

Good fortune travels round and round
Just like this world where joy is found-

And in its circular racing track
It must someday perforce come back

And pass the spot on which you stand
And drop right in your friendly hand.

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AN HOUR

Upon the shores of far Cathay
Down where the fiery dragons play
Where centuries pass as though a day
I rested on the sand-
Beneath the purple dome of night
Pierced by the star-world's glimmering light
Illuming Heaven's avenues bright
Along the Circling Band

A princess of this lotus land
Came - shared with me the cooling sand
And there I kissed her trembling hand
While meteors passed by-
She listened to my tales of old
Of valorous times when knights were bold-
The sweetest stories ever told
To fairest of the fair.

Then planets rolling into space
To watch the moon with smiling face
Glide past overshadowed in his race
Looked in upon us there-
While rumbling surf and sighing trees
Orchestral tones borne on the breeze
Re-echoed far above the seas
For one as sad as I
Had I not come around the world

By ocean wave and typhoon hurled
With sails for Loveland rent and furled
But with a lover's message-
To pass in ships that sail by night
So many maidens in my plight
Of being ever doomed to flight
A lonesome bird of passage-

To find upon this distant shore
A maiden who bath ne'er before
Been loved by Love-and evermore
Earn not a lover's wages?
But lonesome souls if asked may say:
To love by night or love by day
When lovers know a lover's way
An hour may count for ages!

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DESERT DREAMS

Here on the plains that nurtured barb'rous tribes.
Where Khans of Tartary were forced to fall,
When rule of Chow and all their worthy scribes
Gave way to Ch'in, the builder of the wall-

Bemusing what the Folks are thinking now
At Home, where routine fills the daily page-
Where generations through the years allow
Connected rounds of frijnds for every age-

Allured by Dame Adventure's gentle sway
The Gobi Desert only for my bed
I think like all who take the rover's way
And wonder if they mourn me with the dead-

I see the bees upon the blooming vine
Creep in and out the honeysuckle flower
And hum in tune with dreams that once were mine
To fill the days of youth-each golden hour-

I walk adown the lanes I learned to love
Where chestnut trees in Autumn shed their burrs
Beneath the leaves that rustled from above
To music of a voice that once was Hers-

I wonder if around me with Romance
The nieces and the nephews weave my name
As I of those whose absence did enhance
Their travels-0, I hope it is the same!

Whilst I'm enveloped by the screen of night
'Neath canopy of jewelled indigo
I hear the wild-geese honking in their flight
To warmer climes before the coming snow-

A dog now barks afrom another camp-
I feel the muffled breath of camels near-
The coolies play their cards beneath the lamp
And thus, I ask what comes within the year?

I wonder, do the lights of Milky Way
Reflect the souls of all the millions spent
In Asia, where the years are but a day
Of history, upon this continent!

I dreamt until once more I was a boy-
Familiar voices ringing in my ears-
A dozen school-mates entered to annoy
With capers, as they had in other years-

Then suddenly I learned that I was blind-
The darkness came upon me unawares-
My happiness was full-I did not mind-
I heard the tones I knew that once were Hers-

And with a loving kiss upon my hair
And fingers clasped with mine, like olden days
It mattered not were all the angels there-
Such ecstasy ne'er comes by other ways-

I struggled long and hard that I might see-
Add color to the voice that brought me joy-
Then shades of night rolled back their canopy
To show the worried visage of my "boy."

The Autumn rain has come on me at last
And beaten long upon my grizzled face-
My caravan is leaving-time has passed-
The dawn now marks the camel's measured pace-

The mud is deep and everything is wet-
The coolies dripping add but to the grime-
Such soggy chilled discomfort here, and yet
Romance it may be called-some future time.

Top

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Never judge
Of a book
By its cover:
This has been
Said before.

Nor a girl
By the halo
Above her,
If on a
Ball room floor.

A vision fair in old Peking
With eyes of desert blue
And when she danced a barb'ric fling
My senses upward flew.

To see a human form divine
Upon a rhythmic wave
Is more than words can well define
When nature won't behave.

My youth it craved just one caress
Of heaven's joy 'twould seem
To bask within the loveliness
Of such a sylphic dream.

Alas, thought I, 'tis Fancy's call-
Tomorrow I must go
Beyond the Manchu's famous wall
To Siber's dreary snow.

The caravan it leaves at dawn
With camels dignified;
Into the vastness I'll be drawn
With Thought alone my bride.

And lo, behold, the morning-basked
In smoke o'er all the town
Revealed a form befurred-who asked
To ride my camel brown-

Fair Katrinka of the floating dance-
The one of yester eve-
Who by some trick of Goddess Chance
Must take a hasty leave

From walled Peking through Nankau Pass
By caravan as old
As paths worn deep in rocks-alas,
With sorrows never told:

And so we rode-a pensive twain-
Beneath the Lama's Gate
Quite lazily our desert train
Played silently with Fate.

Upon the chords of my poor heart-
This maiden spoke the tongue
That eyes alone betray in part
When loving songs are sung-

Deep was her artist-soul, so full
Of love to satisfy
And make each hour more beautiful
To live and not to die.

Betimes she'd entertain me with
Old songs from Russian scribes-
Again she'd change with dash and wit
To tales of Tartar tribes.

And oft her smiles would drive me wild
To claim her for my bride
And then she'd feign a weeping child
To slip away and hide.

"Twas thus we played for days and days.
And nightly when she'd sleep
Her face would bless the desert haze
Through vigils I would keep.

One night more beautiful than all-
The shadow of the moon
Concealed a bandit's crew whose call
Raised pandemonium soon-

Within our camp, mid groans and shrieks
I dashed to save her life-
Was bound and gagged, then dawn's pale streaks
Revealed-the Chieftain's wife!

We see a plum,
A beauty-peach-
With eyes agleam
For it we reach-

It's fragrance calls
Us to our toes
And then it falls
To hit our nose-

And "Oh I " we sing-
Or else we cry:
"The rotten thing!"
And pass it by.

Top

THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA

With China's glory far behind,
Her splendor long bedimmed,
Here stands the work a master mind
Hath built, with human-limbed
Equipment in ye olden days
When brain and brawn were free
From steam and other modern ways-
This Great Wall to the sea.

Five hundred million yards of stone
With sand and lime and mortar fill,
Were borne by hands and feet alone
O'er valley, plain and hill-
Two thousand miles and many more
Of granite slabs and blocks
Were laid from China's eastern shore
To Tibet's lofty rocks.

A million of camels and of men,
With sheep and goats, and wives
Here toiled in hoards beyond our ken-
Old China's seething lives.
Here standinr on this monument-
We ask the Gods of Time
To tell us how the Soul was spent
Of China in her prime.

Top

THE STORY TELLER

When Jack Frost was on the windows
And the winter nights were bleak
We would gather round and listen
When our Uncle jeff would speak.

He would tell us tales of travel
Over mountains plains and sea.
And such tales as he'd unravel
Would enchant a child like me.

So please listen and I'll tell you
All about our Uncle J-
Who's the biggest and the kindest
Man in all the world today!

You may picture by your fire-side
His betanned and rugged face
As though chiseled from the mountains-
A true son of Nordic race-

With his high and noble forehead
And benevolent his chin-
And his merry little eyes that
Always twinkle from within-

With his ears set low and ample
He can hear the strangest sounds
Of the birds and beasts of jungles
When he makes his yearly rounds

Through the latitudes e'er changing
Upon either hemisphere
And o'er longitudes we sailed in
Merry tales with this old dear.

He would tell us of the monkey
That would tease the
Jaguar wild just to frighten him away from
Where the monkey kept his child-

How the jaguar fooled the monkey
By a cunning little ruse
And the monkey made a meal that
Ne'er a jaguar would refuse-

How in Tierra del Fuego
Or, in Chili and Peru
Or, way down in Patagonia
Were eagle hawks, he knew-

How the eagles watched the hunters
Of guanaco-and would greet
Every hunting party-trail them ,
For what hunters wouldn't eat-

How a very famous hunter
Stalked guanacos in a skin
Of another of their brothers
To conceal himself within-

Till a puma took the hunter
For guanaco one fine day-
As he slept within his make-up-
Now he stalks no more that way-

How a man in South Australia
Who though eighty years of age
Hunted dingo in the mountains
With a bounty for his wage-

How he got but, one big dingo
In a month with battered gun
Took it thirty miles to get
Thirty shillings for his fun-

Till one cold and frosty morning
Came a woodman to the hills
Where he found, the hunter smiling
Though quite dead from age and chills.

So will end the life of many
An old hunter in this world
Who will leave their sport a-smiling
When their toes are upward curled-

And I'm sure that Uncle Jeff will go
A-smiling with the brave
And ask for nothing better
Than a mountain for a grave;

Top

MANCHURIA

(1924)

If from the East we come in through the door
Which opens to the arm of old Korea
And travel northward overland we'll find
The barren hills, from years of wasted lives,
Are being patched by thrifty Japanese
With pine and oak and other hardy trees-
Where waste and desolation of the past
Bestirred some two or more score years ago
By horny-handed rugged Western men
Who sunk their shafts and built the mountain flume
And opened to the torpid native mind
The light and life of Progress-with the rails
To reach the great Manchurian plains.

If through the Southern or the Western Gate
We reach the plains along the Yellow Sea
Or enter at the end of China's wall
Or, from the North through Siber's dreary snow
We find the pioneer hath left his bones
In silent spots amid the clustered stones-
The hardy ones whose lot it was to roam
Afar from kith and kin and friendly town
To come from many corners of our globe-
Afar from every homeside stream and field
Or country lane with memories filled
In unison with every season's mood.

Here staged upon the bleak Manchurian plain
Afar from all that Western men hold dear
We see the drama's drab and dreary course,
The slow and sluggish metal with its dross
E'er mixing and remixing to upbuild
An empire where but in the yesteryear
Through wind and sand the Mongol stunned by time
Was moving with a dull and bovine tread.

Here biting all the ugly dust and grime
We find the men of Nordic stock inured
To roughness of the blazers of the trail
The man from north of Tweed, the hardy Scot
Who drifted over cold Siberian plains
Prospecting down the Ulya to Okotsk
The man from Queensland who had trekked alone
Along the Andes searching gold
Or up the Rio de la Plat' to Corumba
The one who built the plant that made the guns
Which drove the Russians backward from these plains-
Another browsed around the Philippines
To mix here with the fop just out from Home
Complaining o'er the absence of the Ritz,
Its perfume baths and dainty manicure-
The trader who will stay for weary years
To make a home on uncongenial soil,
A Western home in splendid isolation
Like the lotus gracing well the stagnant pool-
A flower in a sea of desolation.

What of the day prescribed by Time to come
When o'er these plains spring cities fair and -rear-
Will those who come to fill the banquet halls,
The fairy balls or drama on the stage-
To watch the manmns perform like all
Now here to toil and eat the dust and grime-
Will they who ride along the avenues green
Displaying charms-the fairest of the fair-
Will they-yes, all the dainty ones to come
Give but a single thought to these old dogs
Who struggle now to scratch the crusted earth
And turn the dross of rough hewn pavements gold?

Top

THE PASSING OF OLD LANDMARKS

(IN MEMORIUM-1923)

Appalling the sight to those who have seen it,
But saddest to those who far, far away
Are forced to submit to horrors of silence-
Intense is our mourning, though voiceless-we pray.

About the middle of a century
The gods bath blessed with their enlightenment,
Our hardy Western mariners were landed
Upon the fairest of Pacific isles-

So fair it seemed descended from the gods-
lts mountain slopes extendin- to the sea
With verdure ever green enkist by rain
From clouds that hugged the rugged mountain peaks-

Where mists through night e'er slept in valleys low
Supporting oft the crests of sacred hills,
Arresting eyes of e'en our hardy men-
With beauty that would soften hearts of oak-

Where art was part of every layman's life,
Where wants were few and comforts there were many-
A sylvan-like simplicity the rule
That each have time for meditative thought.

Where paper doors in straw-thatched cottages
With amber-glow like fire-flies in the night,
Sent forth their merry and yet plaintive sounds-
Vibrating koto, samisen and flute.

Where temple bells would moan the end of day
O'er sacred lichen-covered tombs where rest
The long departed great, the great as known
To stoical descendents of the East-

A static passive greatness much of thought
And needing union with the Western mind
For action, where but thought would pass away-
To raise the world a new and wonder child.

Our mariners here joined this old regime
And added they their Nordic sturdiness
To drop from time to time their hardy seeds
Of rugged and perennial Western trees:

The oak, the elm, the ash and maple too,
With tender saplings planted far from home
To fall on rocky soil and come to grief
In marshes of the Oriental lust.

But others they upon the soil took root
And over half a century have stood
As landmarks to the Westerners who climb
The latitudes of Asiatic shores-

Some noted for their stocky sturdiness,
Their solid trunks and character of Thor-
Trees of Albion benevolent of shade
Sweet gentleness e'er whispering through their leaves.

How oft old travellers basked in kindly light
And hospitality a-from the West
Transplanted to a forei-n soil but true
To lands their ancestors helped to build.

And though they drank of scorching native suns
And breathed alien air of foster-land
They shed the glory and the blessings too
From stock of which their ancestry was proud.

Their friendships blest the isle of their adoption
And struggling through the springtime of their lives
Until acclimatized to Eastern world,
They reached their kindly autumn years of life.

From titne to time they passed-these sentinels-
As silently as mom enfolds the mist
And one by one no longer graced the shores-
Horizon of this once enchanted isle.

With passing of these soldiers brave, of time,
Our gratefulness enhanced those left behind-
Woe, therefore, unto us Old Eastern Hands
When wrath of Gods of Quake and Fire and Wave

Hath lashed in such a fury as to take
These staunch old Beacon Lights and rugged trees-
Our friends, the landmarks of the Isle of Fans-
What purpose bath the Gods-leave us behind?

Our prayers to God of Good we pour-
Our hope for those who've gone before
Our comrades of the days no more-
We'll meet upon a friendly shore.

Top

WINE OF HUMAN KINDNESS

I often wonder when I drink
About the mists on what I think-
If all the haloes that I see
Are phantoms or reality-
With one or two good drinks within
The world about me has no sir-
A maiden's smile is like a flower-
All trouble passes like a shower
To leave me calm as is the day
When summer rains have passed away-
Of course I know long faces who
Will say that wine no good can do
But I remember as a boy
When Scriptures brought to me their joy
Of happiness for all mankind
One thing imprest upon my mind
Was how the Good Lord with his band
Would call for wine to bless the land
And drink with all Disciples true
Before He told them what He knew.

Top

PLEASE COME AGAIN

The weather is "unusual"
When e'er a stranger reaches town-
In London, Paris, or New York-
Or other places of renown-
"You should have come a month ago-
You should be here when we have snow-
You would enjoy our season's rain
If you could but a month remain-"
Oh, I am wondering if ever I
Can reach Japan when it is dry-
In California never yet
Have I arrived when it was wet-
I wonder if when I reach Hell
Old Nick will say I've not done well
To come when all the fires are out
And tell me I should rturn about.
And come again for earthly reasons
When Hell is in the best of seasons.

Top

ODE TO LADY BOUNTIFUL

Not from a poet
Not from a lark
Not from an owl
Who sees in the dark
Not from an eagle
That soars up on high
Not from a wild goose
That honks through the sky

Not from a maiden
Whose heart has been stilled
With love she was cravin'
Before it was filled
Not from a bachelor
Sitting at ease
With no one to bother him
No one to please

Not from a millionaire
Cold and forlorn
Who sees gold in the sunrise
Instead of the morn-
Not from anything
That you could conceive
This grateful ode's written
For Heaven's reprieve-

Not written from sadness
My lot to bemoan
But written in gladness
From my heart alone
To tell of the rescue
Of a sorrowful bird
From a life of such darkness
You never have heard-

Not darkness of evening
Not darkness of night
But darkness of everything
Happy and bright.

Yes-I was a prisoner
With only the stars
Of an alien country
To shine through the bars-
Attended by savages
Who spoke not my tongue-
The language of sailors
That caressed me when young-

Until by God's graces
In late thirty-eight
'Mid millions of faces
That passed by my gate
There came a kind lady
With a heart full of love
For birds in their cages-
A voice from above-

A voice full of music
From a life full of fun-
A voice full of gladness
As warm as the sun-
Whose "good-morning" was wine-
Whose " good-day" was song-
Whose kindness was pulling
This old world along-

As I've told you already
She stopped at my gate.
And changed the whole world
Of my horrible state-
From madness to gladness-
From wildness to love
She changed me with mildness
From parrot to dove-

Yes-truth it will finally
Find its way out-
By now you will know
What this is about-
'Tis just an old parrot
Who's trying to tell
How a bountiful lady
Has pulled him from Hell-

She found me a home
And found me a master-
A mistress as well
To make my days faster-

Named for my lady
I'll make her amends
To merit my name
Of Mr. Florenze-
"Polly love Master-
Polly love Missie "
Is what I will say
But I am no sissy-

I'm now in a port
Where ships come and go
Where sailors are singing
The songs that I know
The songs that are music
To one who has heard
The language that's suited
To a blasphemous bird.

Top

RAINBOW CHASERS

We travel abroad to find
Adventure to fill the mind
Through hours and days
With wonderment-
Exotic ways.

When a thousand leagues
From home-
Increased a thousand more
By time-we roam
O'er lands that smell
Unlike our own-
With sounds well
Nigh unknown
To us-
Our ancestors-
Our race-
We then see palaces
In our old home place.

We treasure what
We've left behind
And wonder how
We were so blind
As to leave the
Old town's country lane-
The hicks that used
To cause us pain-
The poor telaticins
Needing dough
And everyone we used to know.

Resolved are we
When home-
We'll go
To every concert
Every show-
At the opera
We'll have a box
At every race
A seat-
To every night club
Take our girl-
By jove-but we'll
Be in the whirl.

Old friends
New loves will be-
All our relatives
We'll see.

Oh, what a thousand leagues
From home Will do-
We treasure
What our native shore
Possesses that we
Never knew before!

So home we go to old time friends
Who've changed a thousand ways
From those we knew and honored in
Our young and carefree days-

We wonder why we left the sights
And scenes of foreign lands-
Mysterious Oriental nights
On. fascinating strands-

We wonder why the other side
Seems smooth on every road
And why our burden's heavier than
The other fellow's load-

Dilemma always has two horns-
We choose the smoothest fit-
But horns we pass n'er look as, sharp
As those on which we sit.

Top

IN DEFENSE OF NONSENSE

I admire
The monk within
The cloistered cell
Who lives
For his salvation-
But to me his life
Would be a hell
I'd much prefer
Starvation.

The banker in
His gilded cage
Must live
By counting what
Intrigues me not-
I prefer to rage
With friends
O'er what I haven't got.

The men of science
I admire-
To me
They are the saints
Who've rescued men
From fear of fire-
Rid life
Of dire complaints.

But when
The beaker's empty and
When the flask
Is cold
And cobwebs
Close laboratories-
Men
Will still grow old-

Grow old
And lose their vigour
For enjoyment
And for fun-
Collapse
From winter's rigour-
Collapse
From burning sun-

O, God give me
The midway course
Between
Religion, science, art-
And mix my life
With work and love-
My mind
Guide by my heart.

And when I go
I hope there'll be
A few who'll laugh
And smile for me
And think me not
Devoid of sense
Because I've written
This defense.

Top

THE FORGOTTEN MAN

Public Sap Number One
Believed in everybody-

To him no one
Could do a wrong-

He sung the praises
Of mankind, places, friends-

His enemies he knew not-
Contented ever with his lot-

With head immersed he walked
Within the clouds and talked

With man, woman, maid and child
Savants, statesmen, bums and kings-

Alas we ring for him the bell
That tolls for those who picture hell

A place where briquetted roses grow
And fragrant souls forever glow

With pride and joy and sing within
Without the consciousness of sir-

The tolling bells will die away
As we return and end the day

We buried him who'd cared not a rap
That he was Number One-the Public Sap.

Top

THE FORGOTTEN WOMAN

Cold and austere
(Outwardly at least)
She walked-
With her head to the heavens.

Straight on her path
(As far as we knew)
Of duty-
Her watchword was promptness.

She weighed all matters
(With the caution
Of a judge-)
In her shrewdness-

A place for all things
(Except kissing)
And all things in their place-
Was her motto

Slow to forget
(In strength of opinion)
Unyielding to wrong
Was her Virtue.

A princess
(Or, goddess-)
A queen do you ask-
Or, perchance a martyr?

Nay, e'en more
(Than all of these)
Was she-
In her stronghold.

She was just Sister May
(Misnamed from the seasons)
Twixt winter and summer-
For ne'er does she bud in the springtime.

Gibraltar-a monument
To that which is stable and staid-
In grandeur, perfection-
A healthy old-maid.

Top

A BEACHCOMBER'S LAMENT

A million dollars have I not-
On easy street I have no lot
And though I never whine or sob
I haven't even got a job.

I trudge along on weary feet-
And pass the shops on every street
Their windows filled with Chdstmas joys
To bring good cheer to girls and boys.

Ten thousand gems and I have none-
A million homes-for me not one-
The dough I had is now all gone-
Not left one sou for wine or song.

There's just one thing I wish I had
To swell my heart and make me glad-
Just one wee post card I could send
To my old pal-my dear old friend.

Top

MAGNIFICENCE OF FAILURE

Dreams, just dreams
Adventurous dreams-
I've worked and I've played
Caroused in the dance-
For fame I haven't
A ghost of a chance.

I've traveled and found
In volumes of old
In dusty gray libraries
Nuggets of gold-

Rare gems of wisdom
That history has wrought
From ancients who lived
By deeds and by thought.

The fortunes I've made-
The fortunes I've lost-
Were worth all the effort-
Were worth all the cost!

O, God, how I've lived-
How I've gambled with life-
E'er winning the bet-
Magnificent my failures-
And still not dead yetl!

Top

RESOLUTIONS

Once more we've raced
Around the track
Of years that pass
And ne'er come back.

Once more resolved
To do our bit
The better if
We die for it.

Once more resolved
To write a book
That all the world
May read and look

To brighter things
Within our soul
Than heretofore
Hath been its goal.

Once more we swear
That on our wa
We'll never fail
Our " line-a-day"

And so we start
In to indite
That line a clay
Which we must write

The same as we
Have done before
And burned our diaries
By the score.

Top

THE SWAN-SONG OF A REFUGEE

(1924)

I came upon an autumn breeze
To sing for all the refugees-
A bird equipped with broken wing
A broken purse and everything.

Then lo, behold! By my ovation
The Times increased its circulation-
While other local papers lost
All their subscribers at their cost.

I lost the prize of Mr. Bok
And so in peace I take no stock
While still I have a world to shake
With pen and ink like fire and quake.

Although my nerves are shaky yet
My monthly bills they must be met
And now there isn't one Red-(Cross)
To compensate me for my loss.

The wolf now scratches at my door
As he hath scratched poets before-
O, fool-I did not use the kind
Of varnish that no wolf could find!

And Oh, alas I though dreaming's nice
I now must earn fhy fish and rice-
I'll go to work-'tis sad but true
That I may eat as coolies do.

A poet's pay is not enough-
I'm tired of all this "glory" stuff-
To answer all the men of state
My cable bills are very great

They're all congratulating me
For my inspiring poetry-
E'en Kipling, Shaw and many more
Have sent me letters by the score.

Of course they're jealous of my work-
I find within their praises lurk
Their envy of my genius rare-
Which I'll admit's beyond compare.

So, good-bye readers one and all
I hear the snapping wolfiets call
To take from death its awful sting
By starving one who'll write and sings

And so henceforth you will be free
From driveling lines like these from me-
Lines of a singing refugee
In syncopated poetry.

Top

WHEN WE GO SAILING HOME

PRELUDE

Last night while in my narrow bed
I scratched the hair all off my head
Until my brains were wholly porous
For rhymes to suit my farewell chorus.

At last I hit upon a plan
To write for children maid and man
Especially those who like to roam-
About-WHEN WE GO SAILING HOME.

OVERTURE

How dull it must be
For the old bargee
Who will at home remain-
But lucky are we
Who've sailed the sea
And soon will sail again!

Ting-a-ling-ling! Up goes the curtain!

LEAVE TAKING

At last the time has come for HOME-
In dreams of sultry nights
We've longed for homeside hills to roam
Through fancy's wildest flights!

Now, dinners, cards and chits, no more-
We sell whate'er we own-
For stem views of old Asia's shore,
To some a joy unknown.

We send our P. P. C.'s around-
The tidings to apprise-
And then forgotten chits are found
To furnish a Surprise-

AND HOW!

BON VOYAGE

Great days will always come at last-
With friends we now repair-
To sail away with steamer's blast
And " good byes " in the air.

HONGKONG SING SONG

I don't know
The song the sailor sings
When the sailor's a dark Chinese-
It sounds like a song
A sailor sings-
A ribald song of the seas.

Perhaps if put
In English words
'Twould lose its salty smell
'Twould lose its swing
And lusty ring
Of devils down in hell.

Perhaps it's but
A " woman " song
That's sung by men of the sea
That's sung whenever
They leave a port
Or wherever they may be-

For even a Chinaman's
Fantan lust
And long days in the hold
Cannot put down
The calf of the dust
That calls today
As of old.

Perhaps it is only
A sing song chant
That longs for a moment of bliss-
Whatever it is
I do not know
But it sounds a lot like this:

Hongkong is an island in
The Southern China Sea
Where dusky maidens smile and
The sing song girls are free.

The sing song girls in China are
A-beckoning to me
From Hongkong and Eastern Asia
From tropic isles and sea.

Hongkong girls are Hongkong pearls
As dusky as can be
For Hongkong is an island in
The Southern China Sea.

Where green hills rise from ocean and
The blue skies meet them there-
Where nights are filled with music and
There's mystery in the air.

Where stars hang from the heavens and
Where song is in the air
Five seas are turned to seven and
Old Hongkong calls me there.

THE BRINY DEEP

Once more we're out upon the sea
The world revolves for us
And think we now how great to he
A conquering hero thus.

We change and dress that we may dine
And have a drink or two
And tell the steward about our wine
But this twixt me and you!

Top

THE JOLLY STEWARD

Oh, jolly is the steward and
Our lives are now care-free
He's opened up his medicine
That's good for one at sea-

We'll tell you his prescription and
Pray ever shall it be-
Cocktails at noon not more than six-
At night not less than three-

And through the day no limit to
The soda we may take-
Of course there's something in it if
'Tis just for old time's sake-

And so the world looks brighter and
We now can write once more-
In jocund vein and lighter than
We ever could before

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STOP! LOOK!! LOOSEN!!!

HARK! HARK! The Deck Poet stutters
With fountain pen he spumes and sputters
With facile nib and nimble wit
He's happy if he makes a hit-
(with the ladies).

Come loosen belts and let your ribs expand
For mirth-provoking Shamus Rabbitt's hand
Is busy making rhyming quips anew
To please himself if never pleasing you.

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LAZY DAYS

O, lazy days they'll always be
The first few days we spend at sea-
To doze and read and sleep and gaze
At those who smile at us these days.

'Neath cloudless skies-or overcast
With heavy streaks that scurry past-
We sail and watch the sky and sea
Where the horizon line should be.

With breezes soft and perfume laden
As soothing as the breath of maiden-
We see the sun perform his best
Of miracles and go to rest.

The moon with beams to gleam at night
Always so intimate a sight-
He sends them down a golden street
Forever dancing to our feet.

We cease to dream and settle down
When all hands lose their deadly frowh-
A smile or two and lo, behold!
Come friendly greedngs-young and old!

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MAN OVERBOARD'

Man overboard! Throw him a smile!
How happy we'd be
When sailing the sea,
If lives could he saved by throwing a smile.

Man overboard! Throw him a smile!
'Tis somethin- to know
Wherever we go
That lives may be saved by spending a smile.

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CHIMES O'THE SEA

I love
The chimes of Normandy-
The tolling chimes
Of Trinity-
St. Paul's sweet chimes
Appeal to me-
But of
All chimes
Please God give me
Chow chimes
Three times
Each day
At sea.

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TALES O' THE SEA

'Tis strange that all our tales of sea
Are of ye olden days-
"Before the mast" no more can be
But what about our ways?

We read that in the days of yore
Ye olden Jolly Rogers
Amused themselves with blood and gore
Of laws were artful dodgers-

And too along the China coast
Those days the wooden ships
Were manned by men of iron who'd boast
Of many fearsome trips.

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A WHALE OF A JONAH

We never thought that we would be
A jonah on a smiling sea-
We never thought our lines would shake
The sides of all until they'd break-
Yes, even boilers in the ship
They shook until their tubes did slip
The siren laughed until 'twas hoarse
And then the captain lost his course-
To Yokohama turned our prow
And that is where we're going now
Unless again from lines like these
That we are writiny on the seas
Old jonah wakens from his sleep
With Neptune in the briny deep
And springs on us a happy leak
That may delay us for a week-

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OHIO DE GOZAIMASU! IRASHAI!

A voyage on the deep blue ocean
Leaves few if any on the trip
Who haven't got at least a notion
Of WHO is WHO upon the ship
.
Most folk would we
Not like to be
But then we nearly
Always see
That those who are
So virtuous
Are surely modelled
After us.

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AS WE SEE OTHERS

To while away the time now we
Will rhyme the passengers we see-
Our list you'll find about the same
On every ship with any name.

Begins with one whose art at cards
Is heard by seamen on the yards-
A language shark from Tokyo
Will practice "So ka? I don't know!"

And then " the sweet and pretty thing
Of her in rapture we might sing-
Her eyes her lips her sculptured hair
And gowns that maketh females stare.

And then the happy bride and groom
Who spoon upon their honeymoon
Until we come to leave the ship-
From passports many truths will slip.

You know the bird who sings success
But when we land is in distress
And touches you for just a few-
The same old game-what can you do?

And then the dear old man in grey
Who's in the corner every day
And reads his book so meek and mild-
He is the great Sir joseph Wild.

Somewhat unlike the great big king
Who leads the sports and everything-
Who puts on side and tries to sing-
He travels for the whiskey ring.

Our paupers dress e'en to their ears
With diamonds look like millionaires
And millionaires they go threadbare
To get their portion everywhere.

You've met old grouch the son of gloom
Who'll tell you how there is no room
For any ships of any types
To fly aloft the Stars and Stripes?

Now if it happens that you are
Just horn beneath a happy star
Beware and give Old Grouch some room
Or he'll consign you to your doom.

And now we'll dose this rotten verse
Before they put us in a hearse-
All hail-the worthies-let us cheer
Our passengers are not all here!

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OLD CAP SAYS!

On windy days
When lightly laden
With silk and trifles
Loved by ladies
Our ship takes kindly
To the seas-
Sails sprightly
Blithesome
As a maiden-
But
When she's loaded
To the gun'als
With iron and steel
That men love well
She groans and creaks
And ploughs the seas
A quiver
A shiver
To rattle like hell.

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THE FAIR PACIFIC

Balboa climbed upon a hill
One calm and peaceful day-
'Tis said he got a glorious thrill
Alone so far away.-

Old Bal he had a lot of sight
But not enough by day
To reach across-so he looked at night
And saw a peaceful bay.

He called the bay an ocean and
With smiles quite beatific-
The waters were so blue and calm-
He named them fair Pacific.

And in the bottle from his hip
A sample soon he took
And sent it back for Spain to sip
And record in a book-

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FATHER NEPTUNE

All those who climb the latitudes
To cross Equator's line
Or East and West on longitudes
Must pay Old Neptune's fine.

This great good king rules under sea-
Takes toll on lines Meridian
Though calm or rough the seas may be
We meet this great comedian!