Derelict by Young Ewing Allison

—

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest-
Drink and the devil had done for the rest-
The mate was fixed by the bos’n’s pike,
The bos’n brained with a marlin spike,
And Cookey’s throat was marked belike
It had been gripped
By fingers ten;
And there they lay,
All good dead men
Like break-o’-day in a boozing-ken-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of the whole ship’s list-
Dead and be damned and the rest gone whist!-
The skipper lay with his nob in gore
Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore-
And the scullion he was stabbed times four.
And there they lay,
And the soggy skies
Dripped all day long
In upstaring eyes-
In murk sunset and at foul sunrise-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark-
Ten of the crew had the Murder mark-
‘Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,
Or a yawing hole in a battered head-
And the scuppers glut with a rotting red
And there they lay-
Aye, damn my eyes-
All lookouts clapped
On paradise-
All souls bound just contrariwise-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.

Fifteen men of ’em good and true-
Every man jack could ha’ sailed with Old Pew-
There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold,
With a ton of plate in the middle hold,
And the cabins riot of stuff untold,
And they lay there,
That had took the plum,
With sightless glare
And their lips struck dumb,
While we shared all by the rule of thumb-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

More was seen through the stern light screen-
Chartings no doubt where a woman had been!-
A flimsy shift on a bunker cot,
With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot
And the lace stiff dry in a purplish blot.
Oh was she wench…
Or some shuddering maid…?
That dared the knife-
And took the blade!
By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade-
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest-
Drink and the devil had done for the rest-
We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight
With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight
And we heaved ’em over and out of sight-
With a Yo-Heave-Ho!
And a fare-you-well!
And a sullen plunge
In the sullen swell,
Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell!
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

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Robert Louis Stevenson wrote a fragment of a poem in his book,
Treasure Island.  Young Ewing Allison took those brief lines and
finished the poem.

—————————————————————–

song (3:00) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrsifI9382k

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The Land Of Story-Books by Robert Louis Stevenson

At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything. 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back. 

There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter’s camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed. 

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink. 

I see the others far away
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about. 

So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.

 

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The Celestial Surgeon by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

…..The Celestial Surgeon

If I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no shining morning face;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not; if morning skies,
Books, and my food, and summer rain
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain: –
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take
And stab my spirit broad awake.

 

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Good And Bad Children by Robert Louis Stevenson

  Good And Bad Children

Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately. 

You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild’ring,
Innocent and honest children. 

Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places –
That was how, in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages. 

But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory –
Theirs is quite a different story! 

Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.

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Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson

                  Requiem

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I love and gladly die,
   And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
   And the hunter home from the hill.

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From A Railway Carriage by Robert Louis Stevenson

    From A Railway Carriage

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, –
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!

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The Lamplighter by Robert Louis Stevenson

(Photo credit: Klearchos Kapoutsis)

The Lamplighter

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;
It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,
And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;
But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,
O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And O, before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!

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My Shadow by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

                                   My Shadow 

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow –
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so closes beside me, he’s a coward, you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

 

 

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