Tramp Steamer circa 1900 from Oars, Sail and Steam,
edited and illustrated by Edwin Tunis,
published by The World Publishing Co., Cleveland, Ohio, US, 1952, p. 57.
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Tramp Steamer circa 1900 from Oars, Sail and Steam,
edited and illustrated by Edwin Tunis,
published by The World Publishing Co., Cleveland, Ohio, US, 1952, p. 57.
Tomorrow and tomorrow,
Oh, the slashing of the foam, along the furrow!
We’ll spring off from the quay, when the tide has ceased to flow.
East, West, North and South we’re going, boys,
Out where the salt winds are blowing, boys,
Along the ocean highways, where the little traders go.
I have rocked in Pacific harbors, I have fought the polar seas
I have bowed to Northern tempests, I have laughed to the South Sea breeze
I have driven far to the Northward, through tempest, strain and toil,
To trade with fur-clad people for their sealskins and their oil.
Tomorrow and tomorrow,
Oh, the slashing of the foam, along the furrow!
We’ll spring off from the quay, when the tide has ceased to flow.
I have lain by the plague-swept city where the ceaseless death-knell toll’d
When the sailors died up forward, and cargo rotted in the hold;
I have sought the palm-fringed inlets where the liners come naught nigh,
Trailing smoke from my funnel over endless sky.
And ever I am tramping, tramping, o'er the wide world main,
Ever out of the harbor to seek new ports again.
(Instrumental Break).
Oh, the shallow roads of Durban, and Riga’s fortress strong,
The guarded bay at Capetown, and the island of Hong Kong,
Manila’s princely harbor, and the heights of Montreal,
Lagos and sweltering Aden, I've known them one and all.
Tomorrow and tomorrow,
Oh, the slashing of the foam, along the furrow!
We’ll spring off from the quay, when the tide has ceased to flow.
East, West, North and South we’re going, boys,
Out where the salt winds are blowing, boys,
Along the ocean highways, where the little traders go.
From Men of Men, by Cicely Fox Smith,
published by Sampson Low, Marston & Co.,
London, UK, 1900, pp. 102-104.
To-morrow and to-morrow,
O the slashing of the foam along the furrow!
We'll loosen from the jetty when the tide has ceased to flow.
East, West, North and South we're going, boys,
Out where the salt winds are blowing, boys,
Along the ocean highways where the little traders go!
I have rocked in Pacific harbours,
I have fought the Polar seas,
I have bowed to the Northern tempests,
I have laughed to the South Sea breeze:
I have driven far to the Northward,
Through tempest and strain and toil,
To trade with the fur-clad people
For their sealskin and their oil.
Iceberg and floe and storm-wind,
They pass me scathless by;
For why should the mighty ocean
Wage war on such as I?
I have run in the dark of the night-time
Where the cruisers guard the bay,
Into the leaguered harbour
Making my unseen way:
I have lain by the plague-swept city
Where a ceaseless death-bell toil'd,
When the sailors die in the foc's'le,
And the cargos rot in the hold.
I have sought the palm-fringed islets
Where the liners come naught nigh,
Trailing the smoke of my funnels
Over a stainless sky.
And ever I'm tramping, tramping,
Over the world-wide main,
Ever out from the haven
To seek new ports again.
Lagos and sweltering Aden, –
I know them one and all, –
Manila's princely harbour,
The heights of Montreal,
The shallow roads of Durban,
And Riga's fortress strong,
The guarded bay of Capetown,
The island of Hong Kong,
The swarming docks of Melbourne,
The markets of Bombay,
And virgin South Sea harbours,
And drowsy Mandalay.
To-morrow and to-morrow,
O the slashing of the foam along the furrow!
It's out to one or other of the thousand ports I know;
East, West, North and South we're going, boys,
Out where the salt winds are blowing, boys,
Along the ocean highways where the little traders go!