| |
| SIMON DANZ has come home again | |
| From cruising about with his buccaneers; | |
| He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, | |
| And carried away the Dean of Jaen | |
| And sold him in Algiers. | 5 |
| |
| In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles, | |
| And weathercocks flying aloft in air, | |
| There are silver tankards of antique styles, | |
| Plunder of convent and castle, and piles | |
| Of carpets rich and rare. | 10 |
| |
| In his tulip-garden there by the town, | |
| Overlooking the sluggish stream, | |
| With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown, | |
| The old sea-captain, hale and brown, | |
| Walks in a waking dream. | 15 |
| |
| A smile in his gray mustachio lurks | |
| Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, | |
| And the listed tulips look like Turks, | |
| And the silent gardener as he works | |
| Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. | 20 |
| |
| The windmills on the outermost | |
| Verge of the landscape in the haze, | |
| To him are towers on the Spanish coast, | |
| With whisker’d sentinels at their post, | |
| Though this is the river Maese. | 25 |
| |
| But when the winter rains begin, | |
| He sits and smokes by the blazing brands, | |
| And old seafaring men come in, | |
| Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin, | |
| And rings upon their hands. | 30 |
| |
| They sit there in the shadow and shine | |
| Of the flickering fire of the winter night; | |
| Figures in colour and design | |
| Like those of Rembrandt of the Rhine, | |
| Half darkness and half light. | 35 |
| |
| And they talk of ventures lost or won, | |
| And their talk is ever and ever the same, | |
| While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, | |
| From the cellars of some Spanish Don, | |
| Or convent set on flame. | 40 |
| |
| Restless at times with heavy strides | |
| He paces his parlour to and fro; | |
| He is like a ship that at anchor rides, | |
| And swings with the rising and falling tides, | |
| And tugs at her anchor-tow. | 45 |
| |
| Voices mysterious far and near, | |
| Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, | |
| Are calling and whispering in his ear, | |
| ‘Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here? | |
| Come forth and follow me!’ | 50 |
| |
| So he thinks he shall take to the sea again | |
| For one more cruise with his buccaneers, | |
| To singe the beard of the King of Spain, | |
| And capture another Dean of Jaen | |
| And sell him in Algiers. | 55 |
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