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Title: The Holy Island
Author: William Henry Drummond [
More Titles by Drummond]
Dey call it de Holy Islan'
W'ere de lighthouse stan' alone,
Lookin' across w'ere de breaker toss,
Over de beeg grey stone;
Dey call it de Holy Islan,'
For wance, on de day gone by,
A holy man from a far-off lan'
Is leevin' dere, till he die.
Down from de ole, ole people,
Scatter upon de shore,
De story come of Fader Jerome,
De pries' of Salvador
Makin' hees leetle house dere,
Wit' only hees own two han',
Workin' along, an' singin' de song
Nobody understan'.
"All for de ship an' sailor
Out on de stormy sea,
I mak' ma home," say Fader Jerome,
"W'ere de rock an' de beeg wave be
De good God up on de Heaven
Is answer me on de prayer,
An' bring me here, so I 'll never fear,
But foller heem ev'ryw'ere!"
Lonely it was, dat islan',
Seven league from de coas',
An' only de cry, so loud an' high,
Of de poor drown sailors' ghos'
You hear, wit' de screamin' sea gull;
But de man of God he go
An' anchor dere, an' say hees prayer
For ev'rywan here below.
Night on de ocean 's fallin',
Deep is de fog, an' black,
As on dey come, to deir islan' home,
De sea-bird hurryin' back;
W'at is it mak' dem double
An' stop for a minute dere,
As if in fear of a soun' dey hear,
Meetin' dem on de air?
Sweeter dey never lissen,
Magic it seem to be,
Hangin' aroun', dat wonderful soun',
Callin' across de sea;
Music of bell 's widin it,
An' foller it on dey go
High on de air, till de islan' dere
Of Salvador lie below.
Dat 's w'ere de bell 's a-ringin'
Over de ocean track,
Troo fog an' rain an' hurricane,
An' w'enever de night is black;
Kipin' de vow he 's makin',
Dat 's w'at he 's workin' for,
Ringin de bell, an' he do it well,
De Fader of Salvador!
An' de years go by, an' quickly,
An' many a sailor's wife
She 's prayin' long, an' she 's prayin' strong
Dat God he will spare de life
Of de good, de holy Fader,
Off w'ere de breakers roar,
Only de sea for hees companie,
Alone on Salvador.
* * * *
Summer upon de islan',
Quiet de sea an' air,
But no bell ring, an' de small bird sing,
For summer is ev'ryw'ere;
A ship comin' in, an' on it
De wickedes' capitaine
Was never sail on de storm, or gale,
From here to de worl's en'!
"Geev' me dat bell a-ringin'
For not'ing at all, mon pere;
Can't sleep at night, w'en de moon is bright,
For noise she was makin' dere.
I'm sure she was never chrissen,
An' we want no heretic bell;
W'ere is de book? For you mus' look
An' see if I chrissen it well!"
Leevin' heem broken-hearted,
For Fader Jerome is done,
He sail away wit' de bell dat day,
Capitaine Malcouronne;
An' down w'ere dead man 's lyin',
Down on de ocean deep,
He sink it dere, w'ile he curse an' swear,
An' tole it to go to sleep.
An' t'ree more year is passin',
An' now it 's a winter night:
Poor Salvador, so bles' before,
Is sittin' among de fight
Of breaker, an' sea-bird yellin',
An' noise of a tousan' gun,
W'en troo de fog, lak a dreefin' log,
Come Capitaine Malcouronne!
Gropin' along de sea dere,
Wonderin' w'ere he be,
Prayin' out loud, before all de crowd
Of sailor man on hees knee;
Callin' upon de devil,
"Help! or I 'm gone!" he shout;
"Dat bell it go to you down below,
So now you can ring me out
"To de open sea, an' affer
I promise you w'at I do,
Yass, ev'ry day I 'll alway pray
To you, an' to only you--
Kip me in here no longer,
Or de shore I won't see again!"
T'ink of de prayer he 's makin' dere,
Dat wicked ole capitaine!
An' bell it commence a-ringin',
Quiet at firse, an' den
Lak tonder crash, de ship go smash,
An' w'ere is de capitaine?
An' de bell kip ringin', ringin',
Drownin' de breakers' roar,
An' dere she lie, w'ile de sea-birds cry,
On de rock of Salvador.
[The end]
William Henry Drummond's poem: Holy Island
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