For them Belle Isle and bright Penmarch
Shine million-candled through the dark,
They're inside Ushant, or by Sark.
Perim and Ormuz and Cochin
Know them and nod: the mingled din
Of cities where strange idols grin.
The wharves of sea-set Singapore,
Batavia and Colombo's shore,
Where over palms the monsoons roar.
The opened parts of shut Japan,
Chemulpo's harbour and Gensan,
Strange places, Chinese, Formosan!
Head-hunters watch them in close seas,
Timor, Gilolo, Celebes,
They sail by the New Hebrides.
Their spars are tried by southern gales,
Great alien stars shine on their sails
Set for the breeze or in the brails.
To carry home their golden rape
A thousand courses still they shape
By the lone Horn or windy Cape.
They've seen the hot seas' dreadful drouth,
The bitter gales of Sixty South,
Disasters fell and greedy mouth:
The menace of the berg and floe,
The blindness of the fog, and snow,
All these the English seamen know.
From Sydney to San Salvador
They know what they are seeking for:
Their gods are not the gods of war.
