The Sailor Sybil – a maritime tale of superstition published as the Prize Poem in “The Critic”, December 17, 1887
Not many years ago in Hull
Was held a Fancy Fair;
The Rooms in Jarratt Street were full,
For young and old were there.
Gay stalls were standing left and right,
Sweet music stirr’d the air,
And pleasure wing’d the hours of night,
For mirth was ev’rywhere.
In one small room throughout the night
A fortune-teller sate
Surrounded by a pale blue light
And read the Book of Fate.
Thither the youthful couples went,
And enter’d one by one
To hear the fate Dame Fortune sent,
Or how it might be won.
And just as Christmas Eve’s last chimes
Proclaim‘d the midnight hour,
A maiden who had many times
Refused to test the pow’r,
At length consented to be led
To that mysterious room,
Observing that ‘ whate‘er was said
Could never change her doom.’
And when she reach’d the Sibyl’s throne,
To her good will appeal’d,
In hasty rhymes, with soften’d tone,
To have her Fate reveal’d.
‘ Ruler of the past and present,
‘ Say if sorrowful or pleasant
Is my Fate!
‘ Shall I love, and early marry;
‘Or will Cupid too long tarry?
‘ Then, if I must have a lover,
‘ Name him, and his rank discover!
Tell my Fate!
Then the Sibyl with her wand
Touch’d the maiden’s trembling hand,
Saying, ‘ Maiden, be it so!
‘ By all powers, above, below!
‘ If thy fortune thou wouldst learn,
‘ Take the book, —its pages turn
‘ When a number there appears .
‘ Equal to thy number’d years,
‘ Read that page, for it will state
‘ Thy future, as decreed by Fate!’
‘ Hot is the sunshine,—hot is a flame.
‘ Cold is a snow?ake,—thy heart the same.
‘ Not till the snow gives forth a flame
‘ Shall the maiden change her name!’
The maiden twice those lines perused:
Some hidden truth they bore,
That made Fate’s problem more confused
Than silence was before ;
But when she tow’rds the Sibyl turn’d,
That Ancient Dame had flown,
And thus with Fate’s decree unlearnt
She left the room alone.
No fairer flow’r could lover cull
Among the maidens there,
For Lucy Dee was Belle of Hull,
And good as she was fair.
That such a beauty oft was woo’d
Awaken’d no surprise
But when to all she played the prude,
Then wonder caused surmise.
With other youths who long’d to gain
The hand of Lucy Dee
was Phillip Lisle, who oft in vain
Renew’d his tender plea.
Young Phillip was as bold a tar
As ever trod a plank.
He’d sail’d to countries near and far,
And won commanders rank.
And now the steamship ‘Screaming Gull’
Was under his command.
The finest ship the port of Hull
Had ever sent from land.
It chanced one day, not long ago,
The ship in harbour lay,
Awaiting but the tide to flow
Ere steaming on her way.
Before they sail’d Phil asked once more
Miss Lucy Dee to wed;
But fail‘d as he had fail’d before;
Her heart to love seem’d dead.
And when the rising sun next morn
Night’s curtain drew aside,
The ‘Screaming Gull,’ unmoor’d, was borne
Upon the ebbing tide.
But when at noon his radiant light
On town and river lay,
She’d vanish’d far beyond the sight
Where briny wavelets play.
Long days and weeks she plough’d her way
Through seas oft sail’d before,
Until the coast of India lay
In sight from deck once more.
Then soon they rested safe in port,
The anchor caught the strand,
Whilst dark-skinn’d Lascars slowly brought,
Their cargo safe to land.
There anchor’d by a palmy shore,
By perfumed breezes fann’d,
They fill the dusky hold once more,
With gifts from Nature’s hand.
And all too soon; there came the day
When th’ good ship ‘Screaming Gull’
With cargo stow’d all ready, lay
Now homeward bound for Hull.
Thus when the orient sunrise threw,
Its glory on the main,
With merry step, and chant, the crew
Weigh’d anchor once again.
Good fortune bore them on their way,
Until at length they rose
To ?nd the coast of England lay
A few miles o’er their bows.
Then soon the North Sea waves they met,
And dashing through the foam,
With steam and ev’ry white sail set
The good ship hurried home.
It chanced one day the ‘Screaming Gull’
Sped on ’neath steam and sail
When night descended dark and dull
And threatening a gale,
And almost ere the sails were furl’d
The leaping waves had grown
And o’er each other madly curl’d,
With angry, sullen moan.
Each hour the gale increased in force,
Pale lightning broke o’erhead
The good ship driven from her course,
Before the tempest fled.
And all around was inky black;
When suddenly a light—
Afar off in the vessel’s track
Shone through the depths of night
Then, mockingly, a huge wave raised
The glowing flame still higher,
And from the lips of those who gazed,
Rang out the cry of ‘Fire!’
And fire indeed it proved to be;
As nearer is till came
They saw toss’d on the raging sea’
A vessel wreath’d in flame.
Deep horror fill’d the watching crew,
For men were seen on board,
Who there must die, for all well knew
They could no help accord.
But even whilst they pray’d and fear’d
For those on board the wreck,
Young Captain Lisle, with ropes, appear’d
Amongst them, on the deck.
One rope was ’round his sturdy form,
As, pointing to its slack,
He cried, ‘ I’ll venture through the storm,
For but one life brought back.
Then cheer’d by passengers and crew
He sprang from off the deck,
And raised aloft,—then lost to view,
Was wave-borne towards the wreck.
They watch’d with agony intense
His struggle with the deep,
Until God, ending their suspense,
He reach’d the burning ship,
And scorched by flames, but strong in hope,
His work was done at last;
From ship to ship he drew the rope,
And either end made fast.
Then whilst the tempest round them roar’d,
The sailors from the wreck
Along the rope were drawn on board,
And soon stood safe on deck.
They said ‘the fire had burnt,’—they thought—
‘ On board their ship, ‘The Snow,’
Ere since the morning she left port—
The cause they did not know.
Thus one by one their lives were saved,
And only when ’twas done,
The captain his own signal waved,
And follow’d them alone. ,
’Twas then, from passengers and crew,
Such lusty cheers arose,
They pierced the tempest through and through,
And seem’d its lips to close.
For even as those cheers were giv’n
The clouds appear’d less dull,
The lightning shafts were quenched in Heav’n,
The storm began to lull,
And when the sun appeared in view,
Rude Boreas sunk to rest,
The storm-fiends to their caves withdrew
And calm’d the ocean’s breast.
And soon once more ’neath easy steam,
The stately ‘Screaming Gull’
Pass’d up the Humber’s noble stream,
And anchor‘d safe at Hull.
Then, shortly after, came to light,
And flashed around by wire,
The story of that stormy night
When lives were saved from fire;
And Englishmen were proud to know
The brave young captain’s name
Who fought with fire on board ‘The Snow’
And won ne’er dying fame
’Tis Christmas Eve in Hull again;
The rooms in Jarrat Street
Are trembling ’neath the constant strain
Of merry twinkling feet
Gay youth and sober age are there
And pleasure’s call obey
All votaries of thought or care,
Seem banish’d far away
Though Time the ruthless does not spare,
And oft all spirit quells
Sweet Lucy Dee still young is there
The Belle among the Belles
Whilst tripping ’round her face is bright,
And wears a joyous smile;
For well she knows ere long the night
Will bring young Philip Lisle.
She knows that night her hand he’ll ask,
And ev’ry blush foretells
That when he takes her heart to task,
He’ll win the Belle of Belles.
And what of Phil; who oft has fail’d,
Yet buoy’d by hope still waits?
He knows a fort may be assail’d
’Till it capitulates.
Thus long before the night is o’er,
He leads her from the throng,
And in a quiet nook once more
Repeats the oft heard song,
’Tis like sweet music in her ears,
As on his brave young breast—
So long the home of doubts and fears—
Her feelings are confess’d.
‘l loved you when I bade you go,’
She said, ‘And none could guess
Why I was forced to answer ‘No,’
Despite the bitterness.’
‘I do not ask to know,’ said Phil;
‘ ’Tis joy enough to hear
A whisper of the words ‘I will’
Come forth from lips so dear.’
‘But, Phil,’ she said, ‘I must relate
A fact you ought to know,
That I was given to you by Fate
Long centuries ago.’
Then from her dress she drew a scroll
Whereon were written out,
The words that long had vex’d her soul,
And fill’d her heart with doubt.
‘Hot is the sunshine,—hot is a flame.
‘Cold is a snowflake,—thy heart the same.
‘Not till the snow gives forth a flame
‘Shall the maiden change her name.’
‘These words,’ she then went on to say,
‘ Were once reveal’d to me
By an old Sibyl, gaunt and grey,
Most terrible to see.
And when I heard of your brave deed,
And ‘the Snow’ in flames at sea,
My heart discover’d how to read
Fate’s long conceal’d decree.
For was it not ‘the Snow’ that then
Gave forth that dreadful flame,
And show’d to me above all men
The one to change my name.’
‘ ’Tis odd,’ he smilingly replied,
‘ And very wrong indeed,
That destiny should two fates hide,
In lines no love could read.
But let me, too, confess, sweet maid,
That, sadness to beguile,
The ‘Sibyl’ on that night was played
By me, your—Phillip Lisle.’
Lascars – in the context of this poem a sailor from the Indian subcontinent. The term Lascar is a dated noun used for a sailor from India or Southeast Asia – especially used to describe one serving on a British or European ship.