Captain Campbell's Poetry

[morag]

What a romantic!
(bet he had a girl in every port, the sly devil!)

[Penny Tray]

THE VISION

Once on a quiet night far out at sea,
I pictured me the maiden of my choice;
And oh! I pondered long how sweet she'd be,
Her eyes, her hair, her lips, her mellow voice.

And when I'd call her image to my mind,
Sweeter by far than lotus flowers she'd seem,
The greatest charms e'er held by womankind
Were fashioned in the lady of my dream.

Oft would I see her in the leaping flame,
Or mirrored in the streamlet's gentle flow,
And ever would she smile at me the same,
And ever would my heart with rapture glow.

But ah! I travelled far, nor could I find,
Remote resemblance in a human form,
To that dream lady of my love-struck mind,
Who'd come to smile at me, in calm or storm.

Until one day, where wild spring blossoms grow,
I wandered thro' the pastures on a height,
Where all the cleanest western breezes blow,
And lo! I saw my vision of delight.

There by the path in loveliness she passed,
All in a flowing gown of azure hue;
Here was my dream girl, humanised at last,
And listen, dearest heart of mine, 'twas you.

[morag]

swoon, sigh..smelling salts please for Morag..

[Penny Tray]

I think you had better sit doon Morag!

I USED TO LOVE THE MOONLIGHT

I used to love the moonlight shedding silver on the sea,
And the stardust in the twinkling tropic skies;
But now the only radiance that's bringing joy to me
Is the light that's shining softly from your eyes.

I used to love the smiling of the kindly morning sun,
A-streaming then the swaying palms above;
But I know 'twas pallid dawning to the love that's just begun,
For the smiles from you are now the ones I love.

The whisper of the zephyr south away below Ceylon
Was a sound to make my straining ears rejoice,
As it wafted scent of spices thro' the gateway of the dawn,
But now my whispering zephyr is your voice.

The heaving salt sea highway and the ocean current's flow,
The topmast swung athwart a sky of blue.
I used to think I loved them, but, dearest, now I know,
My love for now and always is for you.

[morag]

Think ma knees just turned to jeely...

[Penny Tray]

This is actually the last poem in Captain Campbell's book but I've kept a cheerier one to conclude tomorrow.

THE SAILOR

I am not like to drown, but if I do,
Don't mourn for me, but only say
That Neptune's garden knows a sweeter dew
Than comes from any salt sea spray.
And seaweed swaying in the beds below,
Tasting awhile the tang of this manure,
Branches as bracken in the tideway's flow,
And strengthens as heather on the Rannoch Moor.

And, say, the shrieking of the wester wind
Is piping pibrochs and Highland reels
That weaken Celtic fire in Neptune's mind,
And warm the blood that through a mermaid steals.
For rather than the sable plumes of shore,
For me the shuffling of the dance I love;
With overhead the threshing and the roar
Of screws that sang when I was 'live above.

[Penny Tray]

This, I regret, is the last of Captain Campbell's published poems. I hope you enjoyed their high quality, local featues, descriptions of far off places, humour, romance, et cetera.

THE LOWLY GIGOLO

I want to tell a story of the most amazing skate,
Who ever stepped aboard a ship, to aggravate the mate.
His family called him Mitchell, for the guy was christened so,
But the sailors knew him only as "The Lowly Gigolo."

He stepped aboard the "Holloway" to watch her on the lakes,
With great contempt for working and a fondness for mistakes;
And although his heart was speedy, yet his speed was always slow,
For he liked to take it easy, did "The Lowly Gigolo."

The mate was driven crazy and he called him "Hollowhead,"
But I wouldn't like to tell you what the steamboat skipper said,
Or repeat the names they called him, for your modest ears would glow,
And you'd maybe feel some pity for "The Lowly Gigolo."

But the "Gig" he didn't worry, for the ladies filled his mind,
And his thoughts were all in seaports with the girls he'd left behind;
And he didn't hear the whistle that the mate would often blow,
For what were rules and orders to "The Lowly Gigolo?"

He wore so red a blazer, and a shirt so brilliant green,
That it frightened Captain Hawman and it blinded Jack Dineen,
And they thought a fire was raging in the watchman's room below,
But 'twas just the showy raiment of "The Lowly Gigolo."

The hardest work he did on watch was just to steal a nap,
Or stir the other sailors up to start a game of crap.
If you wished to speak a little in a language that he'd know,
You'd shout "A dollar open" to "The Lowly Gigolo."

One day the ship was tying up in sunny Montreal,
And the wires were set to heave her to the elevator wall;
Her stern was swinging nicely, but her bow, a trifle slow,
So the mate yelled out an order to "The Lowly Gigolo."

The Gigolo just heard him as he wakened from a dream,
So he didn't wait to drain the cocks, but walloped on the steam;
The poor old winch protested, and the pistons shouted "Oh!"
"I guess she needs more pressure, " said "The Lowly Gigolo."

The he opened up a valve a bit to make her do her stuff,
But the packing wandered skywards and the pistons called his bluff,
Till the winch was cracked and shattered in a hundred bits or so;
"Do you think there's something broken?" asked "Thy Lowly Gigolo."

He bought a pair of summer shoes in black and snowy kid,
And listen till I tell you what the crazy beggar did.
He coated them with eggshell paint, to make them white as snow,
And ornament the footsteps of "The Lowly Gigolo."

Then he pranced along "St. Lawrence Main" with shiny painted feet,
And he'd execute a tango to each pretty girl he'd meet;
But it didn't make him happy, when he had to stoop so low,
To soojie round the uppers of "The Lowly Gigolo."

When at last the season ended, there was nothing for it now,
But to navigate to Stayner and take bearings of a cow;
And round the Georgian inlet he is known to high and low,
As the famous dancing sailorman - "The Lowly Gigolo."

[Meg]

Take a bow PT - that was a lot of work - but absolutely worth every word. Thanks for bringing the work of a very talented Ardrossanite to the forum.

Meg

[Penny Tray]

I got a phone call this evening to inform me that Captain Campbell's daughter, CORALIE, without whom I would not have had access to her father's poetry (such as The Affair at Venice), died during the past week. She was a lovely lady. RIP.

THE AFFAIR AT VENICE

Awa beyont the ferm road en',
Past Saltcoats, Stinson, an' the "Den,"
An' faur afield frae local airts,
Awa doon south in foreign pairts,
Ye'll find a place ca'ed Venice there,
A muckle toonship just like Ayr;
Altho' the folks I'd have ye ken
Are no like honest Ayrshire men.

Ae day, Bassanio, a decent loon.
Wae mournfu' thoughts was gey cast doon;
An' aye he muttered, "It's a killer
Tae be in love an' prest for siller.
Portia maun bide a wee while yet;
I'll wed her gin I'm clear o' debt.
It's hard to wait, but de'il be in't,
I cannae mairry when I'm skint."
But syne he loupt an' says, "I'll go
An' see ma frien', Antonio."
His boats are earnin' on the seas,
He'll maybe spare a wheen bawbees;
Ye maun grasp straws afore ye droon."
An' aff he daun'ers thro' the toon.
Syne met he wae his crony dear,
An' sterts straight aff tae "bite his ear."

Antonio was sympathetic,
An' even turned apologetic.
"I'll gie," says he, "afore ye lack,
The very shirt frae aff ma back.
I'd even risk a three-cross double
Tae try an' help ye oot yer trouble;
But ready cash I havnae got,
Ma ships have ta'en it a' afloat;
We'll spier auld Shylock at the pawn,
An' maybe he'll pit tae his haun'."

But shylock was a sly auld Jew;
A chiel who kent a thing or two,
He says, "Antonio, dae ye mind
The day ye were sae very kind,
Ye shouted curses in ma lug,
An' spurned me like a messan dug,
An' then tae croon it a' let flee
A muckle spittal in ma e'e?
But still I'll gie ye a' ye want,
Gin ye will jine me in a pant;
Ye'll sign a bond made oot tae me
For three months' time - I'll chairge nae fee.
Repay the siller on the nail,
Wae this condition, if ye fail,
That I shall cut wae my ain fist
A pun o' flesh frae aff yer kist.

Bassanio was gey an' feart,
But brave Antonio wasnae sweart.
He signed the bond an' shouted oot,
"There's naething tae be feart aboot.
My boats 'll soon arrive frae Spain,
An' then we'll pey it back again."
But dod! He needit a' his spunk -
Within a week his boats were sunk!

An' noo his time was drawin' brief;
Auld Shylock claimed his pun' o' beef.
Bassanio was like a wreck,
An' swore he'd thraw auld Shylock's neck.
Portia saw he was pit aboot,
An' drew the haile mad story oot,
Says she at once, "The bad auld rat,
I'll scunner him frae tricks like that."
She 'guised herself like ony judge,
An' gied her servant lass a nudge.
"Awa," says she, "an' wash yer face,
We'll tak' the coort an' try this case."
The case was ca'd; she took her sate;
But Shylock wouldnae thole debate.
He'd act the butcher, willy-nilly,
An' shairpened up a twa-fit gully.

She argie-bargied, here an' there,
Tae try an' show him what was fair;
Hoo mercy was the foremaist need
An' no tae execute the deed.
But Shylock says, "I'm wantin' law,
For mercy doesnae coont ava;
The contract terms maun aye be suitit,
I'll hae my flesh - that's a' aboot it."
But, sirs! A wumman's hard tae beat.
"A richt," she says, "ye'll hae yer meat,
A pun o' flesh frae near his heart.
But tent tae, this afore ye stert -
Tak mair than whit the bond does state;
Or even less - the least wee tate,
Or ane wee drap o' blood let fa' -
Ye'll hang, ma man, an' that's the law!"

Dumfoonert, Shylock thought a bit,
But Portia wasnae feenished yet.
"Forbye," says she, "for nursin' hate
Yer siller's forfeit tae the state."
The auld yin staggert, fit tae drap,
An' felt the closin' o' the trap.
He shouted, "let me oot this place;
I'm quite content; I've lost the case."

They ettled sair tae see him hang,
But latterly they let him gang.
They left some siller for his wean,
But a' his gear an' hoose were ta'en.
His plan tae strike Antonio deid
Had boomeranged on his ain heid;
A sherp back-heeler frae the law
For plannin' other folks' doonfa.'

[Meg]

Sad to hear this PT - and thanks for breaking the news to us. Sincere condolences to the family. Also, thanks for revisiting the Affair at Venice - definitely my favourite.

Meg