Harbinger Poetry

There are a number of poems (or parts of poems) in the logs of the ship Harbinger, and we thought it might be a good idea to print them here. The final one, as you will observe, is incomplete: we hope that some of you will be minded to complete it (or indeed write a completely new one on the same or a similar theme).

1842 How hard is a poor sailors lot

He is fore ever gorn from home

Thru varios climes boath cold and hot

He is ever domed to rome

1845 Our bark wile on the ocean bound

Conveys me far from the

And all that ever dear to me

Alas I have left behind

1847 The promises you have mad to others

Per haps you will deny

But ther is a day acoming

The judg he will not lie.

And when you pass deaths cold icy arms

I m sure tis there you will see

The vows to other you have mad

But never mad to me

The book of life it will be brought

The judg he will unfold

Perhaps nascent or latent poets will want to complete this final stanza, which may or may not be a concluding stanza to the other two.