The Harbour of St. Anne's Hill

The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came we!
And we shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Aboard the Edmund Fitz Fourth Street
We rode into the storm!
'And now the Storm-blast came,
And we were tyrannous and strong.

With sloping masts and dipping prow
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast,
The southward aye we fled.

The alleys of slime they came and went
We trudged and fought and swore
Until upon the horizon a harbour came to fore.

'Twas the Harbour St. Anne's Hill
And in the mist we saw,
A ship and crew in peril,
The sea had brought to yaw
Nor tack, nor motion, nor breath
Betwixt the Isle of Drummer and Plain
She lay afloat in death.

The log of fair ship was Bomber
In very deep rot, O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

'Twas sad as sad could be;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
alone on a wide, wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
We must rescue thee.

We roped and pulled
Where the ship's huge shadow lay,
She groan'd, She stirr'd, She uprose
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

She crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd,
Like noises in a swound!
We lift her to our belly
Mere toast for our giant hound.

'The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The helmsman steer'd, our ship moved on;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
Around flew each sweet sound,
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
Then darted to the Sun.

Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.
Bring Ale, bring stout, amber brew and malt
See! see! (we cried) Bomber's tack does halt.

We've saved the day!
Let us drink all the way
And forget our pain
On the shores of aye, McLain.

Art & Doggrel by Bobbie Jean Puterbaugh
with inspiration by Samuel Taylor Coleridge