Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
Song of the Red War-boat
S
Watch for a smooth! Give way!
If she feels the lop already
She’ll stand on her head in the bay.
It’s ebb—it’s dusk—it’s blowing
The shoals are a mile of white,
But (snatch her along!) we’re going
To find our master to-night.
Of shipwreck, storm, or sword,
A Man must stand by his Master
When once he has pledged his word.
But we seldom saw them thus,
Our master is angry with Odin—
Odin is angry with us!
Heavy odds have we taken,
But never before such odds.
The Gods know they are forsaken,
We must risk the wrath of the Gods!
Into its hollow she drops,
Cringes and clears her eyes from
The wind-torn breaker-tops,
Ere out on the shrieking shoulder
Of a hill-high surge she drives.
Meet her! Meet her and hold her!
Pull for your scoundrel lives!
The harm that they mean to do!
There goes Thor’s own Hammer
Cracking the dark in two!
Close! But the blow has missed her,
Here comes the wind of the blow!
Row or the squall ’ll twist her
Broadside on to it!—Row!
We are not here for a jest—
For wager, warfare, or plunder,
Or to put your power to test.
This work is none of our wishing—
We would house at home if we might—
But our master is wrecked out fishing.
We go to find him to-night.
As the Gods Themselves have said—
A Man must stand by his Master
Till one of the two is dead.
Now you can do as you will,
While we try to save her from sinking,
And hold her head to it still.
Bale her and keep her moving,
Or she’ll break her back in the trough….
Who said the weather’s improving,
Or the swells are taking off?
Gone in the loins and knees—
No matter—the day is breaking,
And there’s far less weight to the seas!
Up mast, and finish baling—
In oars, and out with the mead—
The rest will be two-reef sailing….
That was a night indeed!
(And faith, we have found it true!)
If only you stand by your Master,
The Gods will stand by you!