Home from the Sea

Ben Sanders sat in his final days

By his cottage, up on the bluff,

He’d spent his life as a rover, and

He said, ‘I can’t get enough!

The sea, the sea, the lure of the sea,

It whispers at my front door,

And calls to me, here up on the bluff,

‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

 

‘But I can’t go down and I won’t go down

For I daren’t go down, you see,

Not since I was caught in the maelstrom

When the seabed beckoned to me,

My mate had clung to the mast, while I

Had lashed myself to the rail,

And he went down to the stony ground

Along with the yards and sail.’

 

‘I hear the sound in my ears still

The roar of the whirling pool,

I’d cried, ‘Let go of the iron chest,

But he’d not let go, the fool.

It was filled with gold and pieces of eight,

Dubloons and precious stones,

It carried him down to an awful fate

Is spread, all over his bones.’

 

‘But I clung on ‘til the turn of the tide

I could almost touch the ground,

My head was spinning, deep in the pool

As the ship whirled round and round,

But then the tide began to subside

And I said goodbye to Bjork,

For then the ship rose up to the lip

And popped right up like a cork.’

 

‘We’d sailed forever the Spanish Main

The ship, Bjork and me,

And searched the atolls of rocks and sand

Of the Caribbean sea,

We found the treasure that Blackbeard hid

In a shaft, six fathoms deep,

Then Bjork had pined for Norwegian lands,

Said, ‘What we’ve got, we’ll keep!’

 

‘The further north that we sailed, the sea

Grew surly in its ride,

The waves crashed over the foredeck and

They tossed us, side to side,

The squalls came in and the rain came down

And we had to reef the sail,

The water rose in the bilge, until

I thought we’d have to bail.’

 

‘But then one night it was flat and calm

And the water lapped below,

I heard the voice of a siren then

That whispered, sweet and low:

‘Come down,’ she said, ‘you can rest your head

And give up your earthly seat,

But lie instead on a seaweed bed

With a mermaid at your feet.’’

 

‘I think of Bjork on the ocean bed

Though I don’t know where he lies,

His bones are covered with precious stones

With two dubloons for his eyes,

I’ve never been back to the sea since then

For I fear it, more and more,

As still it whispers on moonlit nights

‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’

 

Ben Sanders sat in his final days

By his cottage, facing the sea,

He seemed remote, but a final note

That he wrote was left for me.

‘My days of watching the sea are done,

I think that I’ve had enough!’

And then he strode as the tide arose

And walked, right over the bluff.

 

David Lewis Paget

 

(Inspired by E. A. Poe’s ‘A Descent into the Maelstrom).

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

You must have a whole shipload of muses at your disposal. You write with such veracity that one would expect repetititon, but all of your stories are different and replete with surprises at every turn. As an American, I love your voice. You expose me to stories and myths that I otherwise would have never known. This story is no exception. Poetry is your vessel, but you are definitely a storyteller.

[Marie]

The lure of the sea was too strong at last...

[Keith]

Never expected that! Another brilliant tale.

[Emerald Seas]

A well-written dark tale, David. Very much enjoyed!