# The Wild Goose/The Flying Dutchman

The Flying Dutchman.
Long, long ago, from Amsterdam, a vessel sailed away, As fair a ship as ever rode amidst the dashing spray; Fond loving hearts were on the shore, and scarfs were in the air, As to her o'er the Zuyder Zee they waft adieu and prayer. Her gaudy pennant streamed aloft, and as she skimmed the seas Each taper mast was bending like a rod before the breeze. Within her there were gallant hearts, tho' filled with sadness no, For still the lingering parting kiss was fresh on lip and brow. Her captain was a stalwart man—a lion heart had he: From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling Zuyder Zee. He nothing feared upon the earth, nor scarcely heaven feared He would have dared and done whatever mortal man had done
He turned him from the swelling sail and gazed upon the shore Ah! little thought the skipper then 'twould meet his eye no more He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging o'er his ship,— That Vanderdecken's name would would yet make pale the speaker's lip. The vessel bounded on her way, and spire went down: Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the distant town, No More, no more, ye helpless crew, shall Holland meet your eye! In lingering hope and keen suspense maid, wife and child shall die. Away, away, the vessel speeds,—but sea and sky alone Is round her as her course she steers across the torrid zone. Away, away! the north star fades, the southern cross is high, And myriad starts of brightest beam are sparkling in the sky. The tropic winds are left behind—she nears the Cape of Storms, Where awful tempest sits enthroned in wild and dread alarms: Where Ocean in his fury heaves aloft his foaming Crest, And dashes round the helpless ship that rides upon his breast. Fierce raged the mountain billows round the Dutchman’s gallant craft, But Vanderdecken to their rage a loud defiance laughed. Tho' wave and tempest barred hos way, he brave them in his pride, As onward still his course he held, and wind and wave defied. He struggled madly forward in the weird unearthly fight; His brow was black, his eye was fierce; but looks of wild affright Were passed amongst the silent crew as still they onward steered: They did not dare to question, but they whispered what they feared. They knew their black-browed captain—'neath his darkened eye they quailed And in a grim and sullen mood their bitter fate bewailed. He never swerved, but day and night the deck he sternly paced; As 'fore the hurricane the ship like some fleet courser raced He fought the tempest inch by inch, and conquered—so he thought— But ah! he little dreamt how dear that victory was bought. Again his loud defiant laugh he shouted to the blast— The placid ocean smile beyond—the dreaded Cape was passed. Away across the Indian Main the gallant vessel glides And gentle murmuring ripples break along her graceful sides. The perfumed breezes waft her on—her destined port she nears The Dutchman's brow has lost its frown—the mariners their fears. "Land ho!" at length the welcome sound the watchful sailor sings, And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor swings. Not idle then the busy crew—ere long the spacious hold Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with India's gold. Again the ponderous Anchors weighed—the shore is left behind The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favouring wind; The mighty deep around her seems a calm and mirrored lake And thousand trains of sparkling light are gleaming in her wake For home she steers! She seems to know and answer to the word, And swifter skims the burnished deep like some fair ocean bird. "For home! for home!" the joyous crew, with gladsome voices cry, And ere the dark-browed skipper has a mild light in his eye; He looks above, where streaming high, the pennant cuts the blue, And every rope, and spar, and sail is firm, and strong and true. He pictures to himself the day when once again he'll see The spires and domes of Amsterdam rise o'er the Zuyder Zee Away across the burning zone the vessel southward flies, Again the northern beacons fade and southern stars arise. Oh! hapless crew, you little dream, as onward still you go, That o'er your ill-fated ship is hung a doom of woe. Again the stormy Cape draws near, and furious billows rise, And once again the Dutchman's laugh, both wind and wave defies. But fiercely swept the tempest ere the scornful laugh had died, A warning to the daring man to curb his impious pride. A crested mountain struck the ship, and like a frighted bird She trembled 'neath the awful shock,—then Vanderdecken heard A pleading voice within the gale—his better angel spoke, But fled before his scowling look; then fierce the billows broke Upon the trembling helpless ship—the crew with terror paled, But still the captain never flinched, nor 'neath their fury quailed. With arms folded o'er his breast, and fiercely flashing eye, He answered back the angry frown that towered o'er the sky. He seized the helm in his grasp, and fiercely dashed aside The trembling watch who held it, then with heart of scornful pride, All heedless of the warning blast or lightning's lurid flame, He spoke—and this with impious words blasphemed God's holy name. "Howl on, ye winds! ye tempests, howl!" your rage is spent in vain; Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I’ll ride upon the main. Dash on, ye waves! across your foam I’ll sail upon my path, I Care not for thy Maker's smile—I care not for His wrath!" He ceased—a deathlike silence reigned—the tempest and the sea Were hushed in sudden stillness by their ruler's dread decree. All motionless the vessel rode within the gathering gloom; The Dutchman stood upon the poop and heard his awful doom; The mariners were on the deck, in swooning terror prone; Their hearts blood froze—they, too, were doomed; in angered mighty tone, The awful words swept o'er the deep—"Go wretch!, accursed!, condemned! Go sail forever on the deep, by angry tempests hemmed! No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle fav'ring breeze, Shall ever greet thee. Go accursed! and battle with the seas. Go braggart! struggle with the storm, nor ever cease to live, But bear a million times the pangs that death and fear can give. Away and hide thy guilty head! a curse to all thy kind Who ever see the struggling, wretch! with ocean and with wind, Away presumptuous worm of earth! go teach thy fellow-worms, The awful doom that waits on him who braves the King of Storms!" 'Twas o'er! One lurid gleam of wrath lit up the sea and sky Around and o'er the fated ship: then rose a wailing cry From every heart within her wild anguish and despair; But mercy for them was no more—it died away in air, Again the lurid light gleamed out—the ship was still at rest, The crew were standing at their ports: with arms across his breast Still stood the captain on the poop—but bent and crouching now He bowed before that fiat dread, and o'er his swarthy brow
Came lines of anguish, as if a thousand years of pain Had lived and suffered—then across the heaving angry main The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the waves in madness dashed And hissed their scorn o'er the ship round which their fury cashed And ever, ever, ever thus, that doomed crew will speed, They try to round the stormy cape, but never can succeed. And oft when storms are fiercest, 'mid the lightnings vivid sheen, Against the tempest struggling, still the phantom ship is seen Across the billows dashing; and 'tis said that every word Of her captain's awful blasphemy upon the gale is heard. But heaven help the hapless crew that impious sentence hears; The doom of those is sealed to whom that fatal ship appears: They'll never reach their destined port—they'll see their homes no more They who see the flying Dutchman, never, never, reach the shore
J.B. O'Reilly.