Marco Polo

I have done my bit of carving,
Figureheads of quaint design,
For the Olives and the Ruddocks,
And the famous Black Ball Line.
Brigantines and barques and clippers,
Brigs and schooners, lithe and tall,
But the bounding Marco Polo
Was the proudest of them all.

I can see that white-winged clipper
Reeling under studding clouds,
Tramping down a hazy sky-line
With a Northern in her shrouds.
I can feel her lines of beauty,
See her flecked with spume and brine,
As she drives her scuppers under.
And that figurehead of mine.

Twas of seasoned pine I made it,
Clear from outer bark to core,
And the finest piece of timber
From the mast-pond on Straight Shore.
Every bite of axe or chisel,
Every ringing mallet welt,
Brought from out that block of timber
All the spirit that I felt.

I had read of Marco Polo
Till his daring deeds were mine,
And I saw them all aglowing
In that balsam-scented pine;
Saw his eyes alight with purpose
Facing every vagrant breeze;
Saw him lilting, free and careless,
Over all the Seven Seas.

That was how I did my carving;
Beat of heart and stroke of hand
Blended into life and action
All the purpose that I planned;
Flowing robes and wind-tossed tresses
Forms of beauty, strength, design--
Saw them all, and strove to carve them
In those figureheads of mine.

I am old, my hands are feeble,
And my outward eyes are dim,
But I see again those clippers
Lifting o'er the ocean's rim;
Great white fleet of reeling rovers,
Wind above, the surf beneath,
And the Marco Polo leading
With my carving in her teeth.

                                                       --H. A. Cody

My grandparents had a painting of a white-winged clipper in their living room I never tired of looking at.
My parents also had a painting of a clipper in the entryway to their home and I have a painting of a clipper in my home.

Captain Bill Schweizer U.S.M.M., missionary
Mountaintop Sea Ministries International