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<h2> Lukannon </h2>
<p>This is the great deep-sea song that all the St. Paul seals sing when they
are heading back to their beaches in the summer. It is a sort of very sad
seal National Anthem.</p>
<p>
I met my mates in the morning (and, oh, but I am old!)<br/>
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;<br/>
I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers’ song—<br/>
The Beaches of Lukannon—two million voices strong.<br/>
<br/>
The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,<br/>
The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,<br/>
The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame—<br/>
The Beaches of Lukannon—before the sealers came!<br/>
<br/>
I met my mates in the morning (I’ll never meet them more!);<br/>
They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.<br/>
And o’er the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach<br/>
We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.<br/>
<br/>
The Beaches of Lukannon—the winter wheat so tall—<br/>
The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!<br/>
The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!<br/>
The Beaches of Lukannon—the home where we were born!<br/>
<br/>
I met my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.<br/>
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;<br/>
Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,<br/>
And still we sing Lukannon—before the sealers came.<br/>
<br/>
Wheel down, wheel down to southward; oh, Gooverooska, go!<br/>
And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe;<br/>
Ere, empty as the shark’s egg the tempest flings ashore,<br/>
The Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more!<br/></p>
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