Ballads (Masefield, 1903)/Hall Sands
Hall Sands
[The village of Hall Sands, between Dartmouth and Start Point, in South Devonshire, is imminently threatened by the sea. Its natural breakwater of sand and shingle was removed a. few months ago by a Government contractor, and since its removal the sea has encroached upon the foreshore, and is now undermining some of the houses.
The land on which the village stands is beginning to slip and settle. The sea takes a heavy toll of earth at each high tide. The fishermen are in danger of utter ruin, and the first gale from the south-east is likely to sweep the village from its site.]
The moon is bright on Devon sands,
The pale moon brings the tide,
The cold green water's greedy hands
Are clutching far and wide
Where the brown nets are dried.
The pale moon brings the tide,
The cold green water's greedy hands
Are clutching far and wide
Where the brown nets are dried.
Oh! snaky are the salt green waves
That wash the scattered shells;
They come from making sailors' graves
And tolling sunk ships' bells—
But now their tossing swells
That wash the scattered shells;
They come from making sailors' graves
And tolling sunk ships' bells—
But now their tossing swells
Are lipping greedy at the stone
Which props the scattered town.
They cannot leave the rocks alone,
They mean to sink and drown
The wretched cabins down.
Which props the scattered town.
They cannot leave the rocks alone,
They mean to sink and drown
The wretched cabins down.
The beams are creaking, and the walls
Are cracking, while the sea.
Lips landward steadily and galls
Those huts of brick and tree
Which men's homes used to be.
Are cracking, while the sea.
Lips landward steadily and galls
Those huts of brick and tree
Which men's homes used to be.
Lithe, wicked eddies twist and spin
Where once they dragged the boats.
The nimble shrimps are nesting in
The rye-patch—and the throats
Of sea-snails glut the oats.
Where once they dragged the boats.
The nimble shrimps are nesting in
The rye-patch—and the throats
Of sea-snails glut the oats.
It is all falling, slipping swift;
The thievish tides intend
To crumble down and set adrift,
To eat away, and rend.
And steal, and make an end.
The thievish tides intend
To crumble down and set adrift,
To eat away, and rend.
And steal, and make an end.
Soon, when the wind is setting cold
And sharp from the south-east,
The great salt water running bold
Will give the fish a feast,
And the town will have ceased,
And sharp from the south-east,
The great salt water running bold
Will give the fish a feast,
And the town will have ceased,
But that its wretched ruins then—
Though sunken utterly—
Will show how the brute greed of men
Helps feed the greedy sea.
Though sunken utterly—
Will show how the brute greed of men
Helps feed the greedy sea.