March 21, 1934
THE CHANTY MAN'S LAMENT
By S. M. PARKER
Oh Harborville! Dear Harborville,
I hear an echo from the hill,
A whisper out the long ago
When brig and barque sailed to and fro,
Cruising the far-famed Seven Seas
With canvas spread to scudding breeze.
Oh Harborville! My Harborville,
Hark to the echo from the hill,
Reminding me I'm aged and gray
Just turning eighty years, today;
A voice from out the far away
Comes homing o'er the shining Bay;
Next Port of Call for me, I ken,
That quiet Port of Missing Men.
Dear quaint and storied Harborville,
No hammers sound from creek or rill,
All silence, where broad-axe and saw,
And adz, once trembled from the draw;
Keen blades that moulded graceful ships
To cleave Old Fundy's treacherous rips.
This cunning craftsmanship's denied
Expression, now the need has died.
Oh lovely, sea-blown Harborville,
The future must bring what it will,
As marching progress haughty rides
In regal splendor on the tides;
No spot on earth more Captains boast
Than this small hamlet's dwindling host,
And though her star of glory's set,
Sea-haunted Vikings won't forget.