The book of gold, and other poems . Few drones in that compact communityâ The hardy fisher-folk have wived and thrived,Drawing a scant subsistence from the sea, Through many generations ; and survivedTempest and wreck, and dire calamity Of warâFrench, English, Indianâand embargo, And British cruisers catching crew and cargo. Few drones, I said : there will be, now and then,Some good-for-nothing idlers found amid The best communities of bees and men ;Nor could Cape Porpoise ever quite get rid Of such unthrifty fellows as Wild BenâA youth of shining talents, which he hid 38 THE WRECK OF THE FISH
The book of gold, and other poems . Few drones in that compact communityâ The hardy fisher-folk have wived and thrived,Drawing a scant subsistence from the sea, Through many generations ; and survivedTempest and wreck, and dire calamity Of warâFrench, English, Indianâand embargo, And British cruisers catching crew and cargo. Few drones, I said : there will be, now and then,Some good-for-nothing idlers found amid The best communities of bees and men ;Nor could Cape Porpoise ever quite get rid Of such unthrifty fellows as Wild BenâA youth of shining talents, which he hid 38 THE WRECK OF THE FISHING-BOAT. In Scriptural earth of self-indulgent slothâUnder a punch-bowl or a tavern cloth. A natural boatmanânimble with the sail, The oar, the seine ; no lad more skilled than he To calk a leak, splice rope, or brave the gale :A very imp he seemed of the wild sea. Handy to help, yet never within hail When needed most ; but he was sure to be Off with his cronies somewhere, getting drunk Over in Biddeford or WILD BEN. Bens father was a fishermanâJob Nelson. He set the scapegrace to repair, one day,The foremast stepâor socket on the kelsonâ Of their small craft, the Lark, moored in the bay. Do it right now, he said, and do it well, son, Or the next blow will bear it quite wrenched and parted ; and Im in no hurryTo risk dismasting in another flurry. THE WRECK OF THE FISHING-BOAT. 39 Ill put that catch of codfish on the flakes ; Then you must help me underrun the from the shelf the saw and hatchet takes, When round the cove he hears a comrade call;To go with whom his task he soon forsakes, Careless who mends the boat or helps to haulThe lines that night. Hatchet and saw are leftUpon the shore, hid in a rocky cleft. The fish were put upon the flakes to dry ; Then Job, all ready for the voyage, looked round,And searched the little seaport low and high, And called ; but Ben was nowhere to be only the wild loon that laughed reply, Ove
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