Andy Battle

Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho!
And he sailed out over the say
For the isles where pink coral and palm branches blow,
And the fire-flies turn night into day,
Yeo ho!
And the fire-flies turn night into day.

But the Dolphin went down in a tempest, yeo ho!
And with three forsook sailors ashore,
The portingales took him wh'ere sugar-canes grow,
Their slave for to be evermore,
Yeo ho!
Their slave for to be evermore.

With his musket for mother and brother, yeo ho!
He warred with the Cannibals drear,
in forests where panthers pad soft to and fro,
And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear,
Yeo ho!
And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear.

Now lean with long travail, all wasted with woe,
With a monkey for messmate and friend,
He sits 'neath the Cross in the cankering snow,
And waites for his sorrowful end,
Yeo ho!
And waits for his sorrowful end.

Walter De La Mare

Walter De La Mare was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist, best remembered for his works for children and his poem "The Listeners". Born in 1873 in Charlton, Kent, De La Mare's unique blend of haunting, dreamlike imagery and masterful command of language earned him a lasting place in English literature. He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1953, and his works continue to be celebrated for their ethereal and evocative quality.

Walter De La Mare

Juliet's Nurse

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Glimpse

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Silence

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Englishman

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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The Isle Of Lone

Three dwarfs there were which lived in an isle,
    And the name of that Isle was Lone,
And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,
    Lallerie, Muziomone.

Alliolyle was green of een,
    Lallerie light of locks,
Muziomone was mild of mien,
    As ewes in April flocks.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,
    And pale as the Malmsey wine;
Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
    And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their beds they were made of the holly-wood,
    Their combs of the tortoise's shell,
Three basins of silver in corners there stood,
    And three little ewers as well.

Green rushes, green rushes lay thick on the floor,
    For light beamed a gobbet of wax;
There were three wooden stools for wh...

Walter De La Mare

The Ship Of Rio

There was a ship of Rio
    Sailed out into the blue,
And nine and ninety monkeys
    Were all her jovial crew.
From bo'sun to the cabin boy,
    From quarter to caboose,
There weren't a stitch of calico
    To breech 'em - tight or loose;
From spar to deck, from deck to keel,
    From barnacle to shroud,
There weren't one pair of reach-me-downs
    To all that jabbering crowd.
But wasn't it a gladsome sight,
    When roared the deep sea gales,
To see them reef her fore and aft
    A-swinging by their tails!
Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight,
    When glassy calm did come,
To see them squatting tailor-wise
    Around a keg of rum!
Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight,
    When in she sailed to land,
To see them all a-scampering skip
 ...

Walter De La Mare

The Isle Of Lone

Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,
    And the name of the isle was Lone,
And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,
    Lallerie, Muziomone.

Alliolyle was green of een,
    Lallerie light of locks,
Muziomone was mild of mien,
    As ewes in April flocks.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,
    And pale as the Malmsey wine;
Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
    And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their beds were of the holly-wood,
    Their combs of the tortoiseshell,
Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,
    Frozen dark and snell.

So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,
    The moon for company,
And hear the parrot scream to the billow,
    And the billow roar reply. -

Su...

Walter De La Mare

Brave Alum Bey

Oh, big was the bosom of brave ALUM BEY,
And also the region that under it lay,
In safety and peril remarkably cool,
And he dwelt on the banks of the river Stamboul.

Each morning he went to his garden, to cull
A bunch of zenana or sprig of bul-bul,
And offered the bouquet, in exquisite bloom,
To BACKSHEESH, the daughter of RAHAT LAKOUM.

No maiden like BACKSHEESH could tastily cook
A kettle of kismet or joint of tchibouk,
As ALUM, brave fellow! sat pensively by,
With a bright sympathetic ka-bob in his eye.

Stern duty compelled him to leave her one day
(A ship's supercargo was brave ALUM BEY)
To pretty young BACKSHEESH he made a salaam,
And sailed to the isle of Seringapatam.

"O ALUM," said she, "think again, ere you go
Hareems may a...

William Schwenck Gilbert

The Waggoner - Canto Third

Right gladly had the horses stirred,
When they the wished-for greeting heard,
The whip's loud notice from the door,
That they were free to move once more.
You think, those doings must have bred
In them disheartening doubts and dread;
No, not a horse of all the eight,
Although it be a moonless night,
Fears either for himself or freight;
For this they know (and let it hide,
In part, the offences of their guide)
That Benjamin, with clouded brains,
Is worth the best with all their pains;
And, if they had a prayer to make,
The prayer would be that they may take
With him whatever comes in course,
The better fortune or the worse;
That no one else may have business near them,
And, drunk or sober, he may steer them.
So, forth in dauntless mood they fare,...

William Wordsworth

The Englishman

I met a sailor in the woods,
    A silver ring wore he,
His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,
    And thus he said to me: -

'What country, say, of this round earth,
    What shore of what salt sea,
Be this, my son, I wander in,
    And looks so strange to me?'

Says I, 'O foreign sailorman,
    In England now you be,
This is her wood, and this her sky,
    And that her roaring sea.'

He lifts his voice yet louder,
    'What smell be this,' says he,
'My nose on the sharp morning air
    Snuffs up so greedily?'

Says I, 'It is wild roses
    Do smell so winsomely,
And winy briar too,' says I,
    'That in these thickets be.'

'And oh!' says he, 'what leetle bird
    Is singing in yon high tree,
So every...

Walter De La Mare