March 21, 1934

The Chanty Man’s Lament
by S. M. Parker

Oh Harbourville! Dear Harbourville,
I hear an echo from the hill,
A whisper out of long ago
When brig and barque sailed to and fro,
Cruising the far-famed Seven Seas
With canvas spread to scudding breeze.

Oh Harbourville! My Harbourville,
Hark to the echo from the hill,
Reminding me I’m aged and grey-
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 Harbourville,
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 craftmanship’s denied
Expression, now the need has died.

Oh lovely, sea-blown Harbourville,
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.

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