Page:Argosy Volume 186 Number 05 (1927-06-04).djvu/29

 N blue-green deeps where writhing eels
 * And ghost-gray fishes turn and glide,

And crusty crabs dance awkward reels,
 * Balance and pass from side to side,

The old commander sits and stares
 * With eyes unseeing on the tribe

Of watery creatures, aye, nor cares
 * What deep-sea potions they imbibe;

For he is dead and drowned and still,
 * His ship is sunk and with it he

And all his men; they drink their fill
 * Of that which bore them once, the sea.

He chose it, loved it as a boy,
 * He sailed its surface many a year,

It was his mate, his life, his joy,
 * He dwelt with it, nor had a fear.

But now it overmasters him,
 * He lost one battle with its waves,

And in a place all still and dim,
 * He and his men have found their graves.

Above, the ripples ride and run,
 * The lingering furrow leaves its foam,

The surface glistens in the sun,
 * While far below he glooms, at home.

No more the tempest or the shock
 * Of thunderous billows troubles him,

For where he sits beside his rock
 * Not e’en the weeds move on its rim.

Yes, it is quiet there where they,
 * He and his men have come to bide,

Gray fish and slow crab are more gay
 * Than he they softly slip beside.

George Jay Smith.