"
"O Garvin, bonny Garvin,
What is the booming sound
Of canvas, and the piping shrill,
As when a ship comes round?"
"It is the shadow boatswain
Piping his hands to bend
The looming sails on giant yards
Aboard the Nomansfriend.
"She sails for Sunken Harbor
And ports of yester year;
The tern are shrilling in the lift,
The low wind-gates are clear.
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
The little while is done.
Thou wilt behold the brightening sea
Freshen before the sun,
"And many a morning redden
The dark hill slopes of pine;
But I must sail hull-down to-night
Below the gray sea-line.
"I shall not hear the snowbirds
Their morning litany,
For when the dawn comes over dale
I must put out to sea."
"O Garvin, bonny Garvin,
To have thee as I will,
I would that never more on earth
The dawn came over hill."
* * * * *
Then on the snowy pillow,
Her hair about her face,
He laid her in the quiet room,
And wiped away all trace
Of tears from the poor eyelids
That were so sad for him,
And soothed her into sleep at last
As the great stars grew dim.
Tender as April twilight
He sang, and the song grew
Vague as the dreams which roam about
This world of dust and dew:
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
Dear Love, look forth to sea
And all year long until the yule,
Dear Heart, keep watch for me!
"O Yanna, Adrianna,
I hear the calling sea,
And the folk telling tales among
The hills where I would be.
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