70
THE SEVEN SEAS
'Oh, there comes no good o' the westering wind that backs against the sun;
'Wash down the decks—they're all too red—and share the skins and run,
'Baltic, Stralsund, and Northern Light—clean share and share for all,
'You'll find the fleets off Tolstoi Mees, but you will not find Tom Hall.
'Evil he did in shoal-water and blacker sin on the deep,
'But now he's sick of watch and trick and now he'll turn and sleep.
'He'll have no more of the crawling sea that made him suffer so,
'But he'll lie down on the killing-grounds where the holluschickie go.
'And west you'll sail and south again, beyond the sea-fog's rim,
'And tell the Yoshiwara girls to burn a stick for him.
'And you'll not weight him by the heels and dump him overside,
