A Romance of the Iron Age

“Water, water everywhere,But not a drop to drink.”--COLERIDGE.

It is a jolly MarinerAs ever knew the billows’ stir,Or battled with the gale;His face is brown, his hair is black,And down his broad gigantic backThere hangs a platted tail.

In clusters, as he rolls along,His tarry mates around him throng,Who know his budget well;Betwixt Canton and TrinidadNo Sea-Romancer ever hadSuch wondrous tales to tell!

Against the mast he leans a-slope,And thence upon a coil of ropeSlides down his pitchy “starn;”Heaves up a lusty hem or two,And then at once without adoBegins to spin his yarn:--

“As from Jamaica we did come,Laden with sugar, fruit and rum,It blew a heavy gale:A storm that scar’d the oldest menFor three long days and nights, and thenThe wind began to fail.

“Still less and less, till on the mastThe sails began to flap at last,The breezes blew so soft;Just only now and then a puff,Till soon there was not wind enoughTo stir the vane aloft.

“No, not a cat’s paw anywhere:Hold up your finger in the airYou couldn’t feel a breathFor why, in yonder storm that burst,The wind that blew so hard at firstHad blown itself to death.

“No cloud aloft to throw a shade;No distant breezy ripple madeThe ocean dark below.No cheering sign of any kind;The more we whistled for the windThe more it did not blow.

“The hands were idle, one and all;No sail to reef against a squall;No wheel, no steering now!Nothing to do for man or mate,But chew their cuds and ruminate,Just like the Captain’s Cow.

“Day after day, day after day,Becalm’d the Jolly Planter lay,As if she had been moor’d:The sea below, the sky a-topFierce blazing down, and not a dropOf water left aboard!

“Day after day, day after day,Becalm’d the Jolly Planter lay,As still as any log;The Parching seamen stood about,Each with his tongue a-lolling out,And panting like a dog--

“A dog half mad with summer heatAnd running up and down the street,By thirst quite overcome;And not a drop in all the shipTo moisten cracking tongue and lip,Except Jamaica rum!

“The very poultry in the coopBegan to pine away and droop--The cock was first to go;And glad we were on all our parts,He used to damp our very heartsWith such a ropy crow.

“But worst it was, we did allow,To look upon the Captain’s Cow,That daily seemed to shrink:Deprived of water hard or soft,For, though we tried her oft and oft,The brine she wouldn’t drink:

“But only turn’d her bloodshot eye,And muzzle up towards the sky,And gave a moan of pain,A sort of hollow moan and sad,As if some brutish thought she hadTo pray to heav’n for rain;

“And sometimes with a steadfast stareKept looking at the empty air,As if she saw beyond,Some meadow in her native land,Where formerly she used to standA-cooling in the pond.

“If I had only had a drinkOf water then, I almost thinkShe would have had the half:But as for John the Carpenter,He couldn’t more have pitied herIf he had been her calf.

“So soft of heart he was and kindTo any creature lame, or blind,Unfortunate, or dumb:Whereby he made a sort of vow,In sympathising with the Cow,To give her half his rum;--

“An oath from which he never swerved,For surely as the rum was serv’dHe shared the cheering dram;And kindly gave one half at least,Or more, to the complaining beast,Who took it like a lamb.

“At last with overclouding skiesA breeze again began to rise,That stiffen’d to a gale:Steady, steady, and strong it blew;And were not we a joyous crew,As on the Jolly Planter flewBeneath a press of sail!

“Swiftly the Jolly Planter flew,And were not we a joyous crew,At last to sight the land!A glee there was on every brow,That like a Christian soul the CowAppear’d to understand.

“And was not she a mad-like thingTo land again and taste the spring,Instead of fiery glass:About the verdant meads to scour,And snuff the honey’d cowslip flower,And crop the juicy grass!

“Whereby she grew as plump and haleAs any beast that wears a tail,Her skin as sleek as silk;And through all parts of England nowIs grown a very famous Cow,By giving Rum-and-Milk!”