THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.

[Written as we rounded the Cape of Good Hope, in the convict ship "Hougoumont," December, 1867, and published in the Christmas number of our Little "Wild Goose" Newspaper.]

LONG, long ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed away,
As fair a ship as ever flung aside the laughing spray.
Upon the shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were in the air,
As to her o'er the Zuyder Zee they waft adieu and prayer;
Brave hearts there were upon her deck, all filled with sadness now,
For still the lingering, parting kiss was fresh on lip and brow.
He steers for some far eastern clime, and, as she skims the seas,
Each taper mast is bending like a rod before the breeze.
Her captain is a stalwart man — an iron heart had he —
From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling Zuyder Zee:
He nothing feared upon the earth, and scarcely Heaven feared,
He would have dared and done whatever mortal man had dared!
He looka aloft, where high in air the pennant cuts the blue,
And every rope and spar and sail is firm and strong and true.
He turned him from the swelling sail, to gaze upon the shore —
Ah! little thought the skipper then 'twould meet his eye no more:
He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging o'er his ship,
That Vanderdecken's name would yet make pale the speaker's lip.
The vessel bounded on her way, and spire and dome went down —
Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the distant town.
No more, no more, ye hapless crew, shall Holland meet your eye,
In lingering hope and keen suspense, maid, wife, and child shall die!

Away, away the vessel speeds, till sea and sky alone
Are round her as her course she steers across the torrid zone.
Away, away, the North Star fades, the Southern Cross is high,
And myriad gems of brightest beam are sparkling in the sky.
The tropic winds are left behind; she nears the Cape of Storms,
Where awful Tempest sits enthroned in wild and dread alarms;
Where Ocean, in his fury, heaves aloft his foamy crest,
And races past the slender ship that rides upon his breast.
Fierce swelled the winds and waters around the Dutchman's gallant ship,
But, Vanderdecken to their rage a defiance laughed.
The elements were servants! and he would not turn aside,
But steered upon his onward course, and wind and wave defied.
He struggled madly forward in the weird unearthly fight —
His brow as black, his eye was fierce, but looks of wild affright
Went round amongst the silent crew, as onward still they steered:
They did not dare to murmur, but they whispered what they feared.
Their black-browed Captain awed them; 'neath his darkened eye they quailed,
And in a grim and sullen mood their bitter fate bewailed.
Ah! hapless crew, ye little dream, as onward still you go,
That o'er your fair, ill-fated ship is hung a cloud of woe!
Again that loud, defiant laugh is shouted to the blast —
The placid ocean smiles beyond, the dreaded Cape is passed!

Away across the Indian main the vessel northward glides,
A thousand murmuring ripples break along her graceful sides:
The perfumed breezes waft her on — her destined port she nears —
The captain's brow has lost its frown, the mariners their fears.
"Land ho!" at length the welcome sound the watchful sailor sings,
And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor swings.
Not idle then the busy crew; ere long the spacious hold
Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with India's gold.
Again the ponderous anchor's weighed; the shore is left behind,
The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favouring wind.
Across the warm blue Indian sea the vessel southward flies,
And once again the North Star fades and southern beacons rise,
For home she steers! she seems to know and answer to the word.
And swifter skims the burnished deep, like some fair ocean-bird.
"For home! for home!" the merry crew with gladsome voices cry,
And dark-browed Vanderdecken has a mild light in his eye.
But once again the Cape draws near, and furious billows rise,
And loud and wild the Dutchman's laugh both wave and wind defies!
But wildly shrieked the tempest ere the scornful sound had died:
A warning to the daring man to curb his impious pride.
A crested mountain struck the ship, and like a frighted bird
She trembled 'neath the awful shock. Then Vanderdecken heard
A pleading voice within the gale — his better angel spoke,
But fled before his scowling look. Then mast-high billows broke
Around the trembling, fated ship; the crew with terror paled,
But Vanderdecken never flinched, nor 'neath the thunders quailed.
With folded arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger in his eye,
He answered back the wrathful frown that lowered o'er the sky.
With fierce defiance in his heart, and scornful look of flame,
He spoke, and thus with impious voice blasphemed God's holy name —
"Howl on, ye winds! ye tempests, howl! your rage is spent in vain;
"Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I'll ride upon the main;
Defiance to your idle shrieks! I'll sail upon my path:
I cringe not for thy Maker's smile — I care not for His wrath!"
He ceased. An awful silence fell; the tempest and the sea
Were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's dread decree.
The ship was riding motionless within the gathering gloom:
The Dutchman stood upon the poop and heard his awful doom.
The hapless crew were on the deck in swooning terror prone —
They, too, were doomed — their heart's blood froze! In angered thundertone
The Judgment words swept o'er the sea — "Go, wretch, accurst, condemned,
Go sail for ever on the deep by shrieking tempests hemmed.
No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle fav'ring breeze
Shall ever greet thee. Go, accurst! and battle with the seas!
Go, braggart! struggle with the storm, nor ever cease to live,
But bear a million times the pangs that death and fear can give.
Away! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy kind
Who ever see thee struggling, wretch, with ocean and with wind.
Away! presumptuous worm of earth! Go teach thy fellow worms
The awful fate that waits on him who braves the King of Storms!"

'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning flash lit up the sea and sky
Around and o'er the fated ship; then rose a wailing cry
From every heart within her, of wild anguish and despair;
But mercy was for them no more — it died away in air.
Again the lurid light gleamed out — the ship was still at rest,
The crew were standing at their posts; with arms across his breast
Still stood the captain on the poop, but bent and crouching now
He bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his swarthy brow
Swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years of pain
Had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving angry main
The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry waters hissed
Their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes had kissed.

And ever, ever through the storm that hapless crew must speed;
They try to round the stormy Cape, but never can succeed.
And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's vivid sheen
Illumes the ocean's anger, still the Phantom Ship is seen
Ever sailing to the southward in the fierce tornado's swoop,
With her ghostly crew and canvas, and her captain on the poop,
Unrelenting, unforgiven; and 'tis said that every word
Of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is heard!
But Heaven help the ship near which the dismal sailor steers —
The doom of those is sealed to whom that Phantom Ship appears:
They'll never reach their destined port — they'll see their homes no more, —
They who see the Flying Dutchman — never, never reach the shore!