The Big Black Trawler

The very best ship that ever I knew,
    --Ah-way O, to me O--
Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew--
    Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

There was one old devil with a broken nose
    --Ah-way O, to me O--
He was four score years, as I suppose--
    But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
    --Ah-way O, to me O--
And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm--
    Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
    --Ah-way O, to me O--
Roars, "Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast"--
    So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

"For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees
    --Ah-way O, to me O--
In the good salt water that the Lord don't freeze"--
    Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

Alfred Noyes

Alfred Noyes was an English poet, short-story writer, and playwright, best known for his ballads, particularly "The Highwayman" (1906). Born on September 16, 1880, in Wolverhampton, he published his first collection of poems, "The Loom of Years," in 1902. His narrative poetry and works often evoked strong imagery and emotion. Noyes also lectured in various universities across the United States. He passed away on June 25, 1958.

Alfred Noyes

The Man Who Discovered The Use Of A Chair

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

The Vindictive

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

Memories Of The Pacific Coast

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Cap'n Storm-Along

They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,
    Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
Sea-lark singing to Golden Feather,
    And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'.
There's Thunderstone butting ahead as they wallow,
    With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;
There's Night-Hawk swooping by wild Sea-swallow;
    And old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.

    Bashing the seas to a welter of white,
    Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight.
    O, they're dancing like witches to open the ball;
    And old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all.

Now, where have you seen such a bully old sailor?
    His eyes are as blue as the scarf at his throat;
And he rolls on the bridge of his br...

Alfred Noyes

The Old Cruiser

Here's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.

Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!

Comes a vessel out of the dock
Fresh and spry as a fighting-cock,
Feathered with sails and spurred with steam,
Heading out of the classic stream.

Crew of a hundred all aboard,
Every man as fine as a lord.
Gay they look and proud they feel,
Bowling along on even keel.

On they float with wind and tide, -
Gain at last the old ship's side;
Every man looks down in turn, -
Reads the name that's on her stern.

"Twenty-nine...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Namesakes

But where's the brown drifter that went out alone?
    --Roll and go, and fare you well--
Was her name Peggy Nutten? That name is my own.
    Fare you well, my sailor.
They sang in the dark, "Let her go! Let her go!"
And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;
And the others come back, but ... the bitter winds blow.
    Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.
    --Roll and go, and fare you well--
They're waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.
    Fare you well, my sailor.
They're all coming home in the twilight below;
But there's one little boat.... Let her go! Let her go!
She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.
    Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

Alfred Noyes

The Quaker Graveyard In Nantucket

(For Warren Winslow, Dead At Sea)
Let man have dominion over the fishes of the sea and
the fowls of the air and the beasts and the whole earth,
and every creeping creature that moveth upon the earth.

I
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket,
The sea was still breaking violently and night
Had steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,
When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. Light
Flashed from his matted head and marble feet,
He grappled at the net
With the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:
The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,
Its open, staring eyes
Were lustreless dead-lights
Or cabin-windows on a stranded hulk
Heavy with sand. We weight the body, close
Its eyes and heave it seaward whence it came,
Where the heel-headed ...

Robert Lowell

The People's Fleet

Out of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
    A fleet of little ships, whose every name--
Daffodil, Sea-lark, Rose and Surf and Snow,
    Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;

Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
    The people's fleet that never knew its worth,
And every name is a broken phrase of song
    To some remembered loveliness on earth.

There's Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank and May,
    Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:
There's Ruth and Kindly Light and Robin Gray
    With Mizpah. (May that simple prayer come true!)

Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,
    A fleet of memories that can never fail.

Alfred Noyes

The Fishermen

Hurrah! the seaward breezes
Sweep down the bay amain;
Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
Run up the sail again!
Leave to the lubber landsmen
The rail-car and the steed;
The stars of heaven shall guide us,
The breath of heaven shall speed.
From the hill-top looks the steeple,
And the lighthouse from the sand;
And the scattered pines are waving
Their farewell from the land.
One glance, my lads, behind us,
For the homes we leave one sigh,
Ere we take the change and chances
Of the ocean and the sky.
Now, brothers, for the icebergs
Of frozen Labrador,
Floating spectral in the moonshine,
Along the low, black shore!
Where like snow the gannet's feathers
On Brador's rocks are shed,
And the noisy murr are flying,
Like black scuds, overhea...

John Greenleaf Whittier