The Dying Pirate’s Prayer
"Fetch aft the rum, Darby!" Captain Flint (R. L. S.)
Out from the rottin’ barnacles and the harbour stench;
Out from the rusty ringbolts adown the weedy stairs;
Out from the roadstead green and the milky inshore blue,
Let me go! - it’s all I ask of You!-
Out and away, out and through
To the whisper of bursting bubbles across the deepsea blue.
Let me clear for sea. Let me go aboard
Any old craft that pumps will float clear of soundin’s, Lord–
Clear of the festered harbour and through the hole in the reef–
Out on an offshore breeze, clear o’ the milky blue.
To the slosh of cloven waters and the lift of the outer blue.
Hear this sinner’s prayer, Lord! He’d do the same for you!
I’ll take all that’s due me in the way of Hell–
But, Lord, to leave me strangle of this here inshore smell!
Me that was bred a seaman, through and down and through
Fathoms o’ blue water, down in the deepsea blue,
Out of sight and sound and scent of inshore gear and crew–
Out of sight of every port a seaman ever knew.
There lays the careenage, white as curds in the sun;
White as Devon curds... God, the deeds I’ve done
Since the day I went a-fishin’ and boarded the Sea Rover!
Fetch aft the rum, Darby! Lay aft an’ ease me over!
Aye, the damn careenage! Sink it, God of wrath!
Hark’ee, God of mercy, to a sick man’s prayer!
Let me clear for sea. Any old craft will do.
Drive me out on an offshore breeze to the jumpin’ deep blue;
Then sink me clear o’ soundin’s, Lord! I’d do the same for You.
Fetch aft the rum, Darby!... Lay aft and raise my head–
And pity a poor seaman bilged ashore in bed
With faces crowdin’ 'round– mostly a long time dead.
