I have slipped my cable, messmates, I’m drifting down with the tide,
I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride.
And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea
With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free.

Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge
Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge.
Cries Charnock, “Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two,
The tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!”

Young Joe (you’re nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark?
Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours? — Why, hark!
The morning gun — Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!, The
I ha’ sounded the Dutch High Admiral’s heart as my lead doth sound the sea.

Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide,
Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride.
My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you;
Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.