Ballads (Masefield, 1903)/Spanish Waters
Spanish Waters
Air—"Sir Harry Lingen's Riding."
Spanish waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears,
Like a sweet quaint piece of music from the grey forgotten years;
Telling tales, and weaving runes, and bringing weary thoughts to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.
Like a sweet quaint piece of music from the grey forgotten years;
Telling tales, and weaving runes, and bringing weary thoughts to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.
Oh the sunny beach at Muertos, and the windy spit of sand,
Off of which we came to anchor while the shipmates went a-land;
Where the blue laguna emptied over snags of rotting trees,
And the golden sunlight quivered on the brilliant colibris.
Off of which we came to anchor while the shipmates went a-land;
Where the blue laguna emptied over snags of rotting trees,
And the golden sunlight quivered on the brilliant colibris.
We came to port at Muertos when the dipping sun was red,
And we moored her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Key, before the day was done,
We put ashore to Muertos with the gold that we had won.
And we moored her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Key, before the day was done,
We put ashore to Muertos with the gold that we had won.
We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests,
Sinking, staggering in the quagmire till the lush weed touched the breasts,
While the slithering feet were squelching in the pulp of fallen fruits,
And the cold and clammy leeches bit and sucked us through the boots.
Sinking, staggering in the quagmire till the lush weed touched the breasts,
While the slithering feet were squelching in the pulp of fallen fruits,
And the cold and clammy leeches bit and sucked us through the boots.
The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down,
All the spoil of scuttled carracks, all the loot of Lima Town.
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of perished crews,
Gold doubloons and double moydores, louis d'ors and portagues.
All the spoil of scuttled carracks, all the loot of Lima Town.
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of perished crews,
Gold doubloons and double moydores, louis d'ors and portagues.
Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil,
Emerald ouches out of Rio, silver bars from Guyaquil,
Silver cups and polished flagons, censers wrought in flowered bronze,
And the chased enamelled sword hilts of the courtly Spanish Dons,
Emerald ouches out of Rio, silver bars from Guyaquil,
Silver cups and polished flagons, censers wrought in flowered bronze,
And the chased enamelled sword hilts of the courtly Spanish Dons,
We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree,
Which marks you where the gold is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the brig again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud white surf of Muertos which is beating in my ears.
Which marks you where the gold is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the brig again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud white surf of Muertos which is beating in my ears.
I'm the last alive that knows it. All the rest were took and swung
In chains at Execution Dock, where thieves and such are hung,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and castaway,
And I know where all the gold is that we won with L'Ollonais.
In chains at Execution Dock, where thieves and such are hung,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and castaway,
And I know where all the gold is that we won with L'Ollonais.
Well, I've had a merry life of it. I'm old and nearly blind,
But the sun-dried swinging shipmates' chains are clanking in my mind;
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun's disc dipping red,
And the tall brig, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.
But the sun-dried swinging shipmates' chains are clanking in my mind;
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun's disc dipping red,
And the tall brig, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.
I'd be glad to step ashore there. Glad to take a pick and go
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years
By the loud white surf of Muertos which is beating in my ears.
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years
By the loud white surf of Muertos which is beating in my ears.