The poems

Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo’s off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvass o’er the mast.
From aloft the signal’s streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time’s expired.
Here’s a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house;
Trunks unpacking
Cases cracking,
Not a corner for a mouse
‘Scapes unsearch’d amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now at length we’re off for Turkey
Lord knows when we shall come back! 
Breezes foul and tempests murky 
May unship us in a crack. 
But, since life at most a jest is, 
As philosophers allow, 
Still to laugh by far the best is, 
Then laugh on – as I do now. 
Laugh at all things, 
Great and small things, 
Sick or well, at sea or shore; 
While we’re quaffing, 
Let’s have laughing – 
Who the devil cares for more? –
Some good wine! and who would lack it, 
Ev’n on board the Lisbon Packet? 

Lines to Mr. Hodgson
Lord Byron: on leaving Falmouth in 1809


The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

The Isles of Greece (first verse) within Don Juan
Lord Byron


Amidst the rolling waves of oceans comes the lovely thought of you,
Through the soughing of the breezes and the sparkle of the dew;
In the shining light of morning and the blackness of the night,
Come wondrous recollections and dreams of past delight.
In the horror of bitter struggle when my heart is gripped with fear,
When my soul seems lost in darkness, blind and frantic, you are near;
Giving faith and courage to carry me o’er the steepe roaring sea,
In the bleakest of moments you shine bright in my memory,
Bringing rays of sunshine, my tired hopes restored anew,
I cast aside the darkness and cherish the lovely thought of you.

The lovely thought of you     
Caroline Byron


One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
‘tis the set of the sails,
And not the gales,
That tell us the way to go.
Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate;
As we voyage along through life,
‘tis the set of a soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

The Winds of Fate
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The sun rises east and sets in the west;
A routine and familiarity we know.
But ‘tis the grit of the mind,
And never the tide,
That takes us where we go.
And when prospects seem bleak,
In the dark hours of strife,
‘tis the love in our heart
To hold not to part,
That is our treasure in life.

Second verse
Alan Lawrence


I once loved a sailor, one young bright and gay,
But now he has left me and gone far away,
To the high seas off Spain he was forced far to go,
To fight in fleet battles and to conquer his foe.

Broken-hearted I’ll wander, broken-hearted I’ll be,
Since my lovely young sailor is gone far from me.

It was Admiral Nelson, it was he in command,
And he sailed his ships to Trafalgar to stand off the land,
He levelled his cannons for some victory to gain,
And he captured old Villeneuve coming over from Spain.

Broken-hearted I’ll wander, broken-hearted in pain,
Since my lovely young sailor in the war he’s been slain.

Were I winged like an eagle, far away I would fly,
To my bonny young sailor and there I would lie,
And where in this world is there one to compare,
With my bonny young sailor, so brave and so fair.

Broken-hearted I’ll wander, broken-hearted I’ll remain,
For my bonnie young sailor I’ll ne’er see again.

with maritime flavour by Alan Lawrence


I went out aboard the boat,
Because a desire was in my head                          
And spurned the love I left behind,
Though she pleaded we should wed;
And I took the shilling of the King
Whilst great guns were flaming out;
I fought with Nelson at Trafalgar
And caught a splinter flying about. 

When I was laid upon the deck
I waited long but no help came;
The ship aflame and become a wreck,
A familiar voice called out my name;
It had become my long lost love,
With comfort and sweet names
Who held me in her arms and cried 
Then faded in the smoke and flames.   

Though I am old with voyaging,
Through endless seas to far off lands,
I wonder oft if she will wait
For my embrace, my anxious hands;
To join together in our home town
And share in love with me our fate,
The silver years as we grow old,
The golden years to Heaven’s gate.

Long lost love
Alan Lawrence
after W. B. Yeats
Song of Wandering Aengus


The Sun had set (ah, men of Greece, a Sunset for you!)
And the Moon was no more to be seen,
No more to be seen the clear Morning Star,
Nor the Star of Eve that shines in its place,
For these Four held council, and spoke in secret,
‘The Sun spins round and tells them, spins round and says
‘Last night when I set I hid myself behind a little rock,
And I heard the weeping of women, and the mourning of men
For those slain heroes lying in the field,
And all the earth soaked in their blood –
Poor souls all gone below in their country’s cause.

Yannis Makriyannis
Greek freedom fighter


The star that bids the shepherd fold,
now the top of heaven doth hold,
and the gilded car of day,
his glowing axle doth allay.
In the steep Atlantick stream,
and the slope sun his upward beam,
shoots against the dusky pole,
pacing toward the other goal
of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile welcome joy and feast,
midnight shout, and revelry,
tipsie dance, and jollity.

John Milton


I’ve sweltered in the Sargasso, mired with ne’er a breeze,
Voyaged o’er all the oceans, crossed the Seven Seas;
Shivered in South Atlantic waters, fighting fear and chill,
‘midst towering bergs of ice; the memory lingers still;
I’ve sailed thru’hurricane and tempest, aboard the Dear Surprise,
Rushed in haste to quarters, when’er battle might arise;
In warm Greek waters, in the summer of ‘twenty-four,
The Turk came out to fight us, four score of sail and more;
The prodigious fleet o’the world before us had appeared,
Close-hauled and closing, so slowly they neared;

Fire! The order at last, the readied guns roared;
From abeam all ships, fiery flame and shot poured;
‘twas a long day we fought; firing shrapnel, grape and shell;
Carnage come upon us, the guns soon hot as hell;
Amidst the bloody fallen, the ship nigh on a wreck,
Men dying all about me, death stalked the deck;
The Turk raked by our broadside, at last he turned away; 
Wounded, I feared I would ne’er see the end o’that day;
My eyes fixed upon the red horizon, the setting sun a’fire,
The barky shipping water, her prospects fearfully dire;

Long hours I lay in blood, water the sole consolation;
Dozens with the surgeons, all in fear and consternation; 
To my maker, I was minded it was time to confess;
I strived for solace in sleep, before came welcome darkness;
I gazed at glowing heavens, lighting up the stormy night;
Marvelled at the skies, glorious infinity sparkling bright;
The full moon a friend above us, we struggled on for port;
Will we make it – grave uncertainty the constant thought;
And through all, I ne’er failed to thank the Good Lord above,
For bringing me safe home to Falmouth, the blessed place I love.

Making home
Alan Lawrence


Through many nations and many seas have I come;
To carry out these wretched funeral rites, brother;
That at last I may give you this final gift in death,
And that I might speak in vain to silent ashes,
Since fortune has borne you, yourself, away from me.
Oh, poor brother… snatched unfairly away from me;
Now, though, even these, which from antiquity and
in the custom of our parents, have been handed down,
a gift of sadness in the rites;
Accept them, flowing with many brotherly tears;
And for eternity, my brother, hail and farewell.

 Gaius Valerius Catullus
 84-54 BC


Christmas Eve, and home we go,
Our shipmates fine, now we know;
The barky’s fixed, all a-tanto,
Falmouth’s men all set to go;’

           Way oh, way oh,
           Her yards braced up,
           and what a blow;

Salt pork vittles, full stocks below,
Shot ‘n’powder, ready to stow;
Surprises all, every man we know,
Off to the ship, we’re set to row;’

           Way oh, way oh,
           Her sails all filled,
           and what a blow;

The wind set fair, and off we go,
Prizes sure, when we will crow;
Black Rock ahead, off the bow,
Back to sea, the tide a’flow;

           Way oh, way oh,
           Gale wind astern,
           and what a blow.   

Home we go!
Alan Lawrence 


It is New Year’s joyous eve,
Our thoughts are filled with affection;
A small stitch in time’s brief weave,
When we will pause for reflection;      

It is New Year’s genial eve,
All our hopes are rising anew;             
But for friends lost we grieve,
Those most precious of few;     

It is New Year’s festive eve,
The time of all times;
But we must take our leave,
After that clock chimes;

It is New Year’s hopeful eve,
So let us send joy and prayers,
Give thanks for all we receive,
Love for all those we have cares;

It is New Year’s thoughtful eve,
Before the next year arrives;
But before we do leave,
Think! It is the time of our lives.

New Year’s Eve           
Alan Lawrence 


Sweeter than the odours borne on southern gales,
Comes the clotted nectar of my native vales –
Crimped and golden crusted, rich beyond compare,
Food on which a goddess evermore would fare.
Burns may praise his haggis, Horace sing of wine,
Hunt his Hybla-honey, which he deem’d divine,
But in the Elysium’s of the poet’s dream
Where is the delicious without Cornish cream?

Edward Capern
“The rural postman of Bideford” 


I was born in Cornwall’s haven, steeped in wet salt air;
As a boy I roamed the coast, every day with ne’er a care;
I fished the pilchard grounds, my youth a marvellous trance;
As a dare I crossed the Channel, sailed over to far France;
Happiness and hot summers, long days spent with my brother;
I cherish those memories still, I thought they’d last for ever;

As a young man I plied the oceans, the winds ever a merry dance,
Whilst I served aboard the packet, striving for my chance;
Until pressed into a frigate, war a fright and thrill,
My brother lost to roaring guns, a bitter memory still;
Doubtless of great value are the blessings of the peace,
Boney gone at last, I was grateful for release;

My days afloat now but a memory, no longer any hope,
Not the least prospect of a ship, and all I do is mope;
Now too old to serve, I gaze across the chop and waves;
Sitting on the Falmouth quay, to sail again the dream I crave;
I cling to blessed recollections and will ever wonder: was I wise?
Until that final day comes at last when I will close my eyes.

The Tide of Life
Alan Lawrence


As wave is driven by wave
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,
So time flies on and follows, flies and follows,
Always, for ever and new.
What was before is left behind;
What never was is now;
And every passing moment is renewed. 



Until when, brave warriors, shall we live under constraints,
Lonely like lions, in the ridges of mountains?
Living in caves, viewing wild tree branches,
Abandoning the world, due to bitter slavery?’
‘Losing brothers, country and parents,
Our friends, our children, and all of our kin?’
‘Better an hour of free life,
Than forty years of slavery and jail.

Rigas Feraios
Apostle of the Greek revolution


In the midwinter frosts when the seas broke o’er the bow,
On the barky sailed, ever fightin’ through the low;
Her deck canted over, her gun’ales deep within the froth,
Every man frozen to the bone, chilled in sodden cloth;

The gale growing stronger, her braces groanin’ with the strain,
Homeward bound, the deck a misery in the freezin’ rain;
The Dear Surprise making water, the ship a shattered mess;
The hurricane raging, hell approaching with the darkness;

The yards all struck down, waves everywhere raging white,
The last of daylight fading, despair coming with the night;
The bilge water ever rising, the boats all smashed away,
The sails long shredded, no hope left of seeing the new day;

Ever on we fought, until that fearful night was left behind,
The fears of all subsiding, hopes afresh astir in every mind;
And there in sight at last, distant off the larboard beam,
Blessed Falmouth town! For every man his precious dream.

The pumps a’workin’ hard, the Black Rock at last astern,
As we reached the Carrick Roads, the barky made her turn;
The hated wind gone at last, we brought her about,
From hundreds along the quay, came the welcome shouts.

At last our familiar King’s Road, no more the terror of the sea,
And so to the boats, every man pulling hard for the quay;
To the anxious arms of mothers, to families and dear friends,
Welcome tears of joy at last, the voyage at its blessed end.

 Winter Homecoming
 Alan Lawrence