Ghosts Of Cape Horn
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Some who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
See them all in sad repair
Demons dance everywhere
Southern gales, tattered sails
And none to tell the tales
Come all of you rustic old sea dogs
Who follow the great southern cross
You were rounding the horn
In the eye of a storm
When ya lost er one day
And you read all yer letters
From oceans away
Then you took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Come all you old sea dogs from devon
Southampton, penzance, and kinsale
You were caught by the chance
Of a sailors last dance
It was not meant to be
And ya read all yer letters
Cried anchor aweigh
Then ya took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
There was an Old Man of Cape Horn,
Who wished he had never been born;
So he sat on a chair,
Till he died of despair,
That dolorous Man of Cape Horn.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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Valparaiso
Chase the dog star
Over the sea
Home where my true love is waiting for me
Rope the south wind
Canvas the stars
Harness the moonlight
So she can safely go
Round the cape horn to valparaiso
Red the port light
Starboard the green
How will she know of the devils Ive seen
Cross in the sky, star of the sea
Under the moonlight, there she can safely go
Round the cape horn to valparaiso
Valparaiso
And every road I walked would take me down to the sea
With every broken promise in my sack
And every love would always send the ship of my heart
Over the rolling sea
If I should die
And waters my grave
Shell never know if Im damned or Im saved
See the ghost fly over the sea
Under the moonlight, there she can safely go
Round the cape horn to valparaiso
Valparaiso
Valparaiso
Valparaiso
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hernani
Cistercians might crack their sides
With laughter, and exemption get,
At sight of heroes clasping brides,
And hearing--O the horn! the horn!
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies
For sermons cosmopolitan,
Hernani. Have we filched our prize,
Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
poem by George Meredith
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No one is fit to judge a book until he has rounded Cape Horn in a sailing vessel, until he has bumped into two or three icebergs, until he has been lost in the sands of the desert, until he has spent a few years in the House of the Dead.
quote by Van Wyck Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter’s Song
RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.
Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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South Australia
In South Australia I was born
Heave away, Haul away
In South Australia 'round Cape Horn
We're bound for South Australia
Haul away your rolling king
Heave away, Haul away
Haul away oh hear me sing
We're bound for South Australia
As I walked out one morning fair
Heave away, Haul away
'Twas there I met Miss Nancy Blair
We're bound for South Australia
There's just one thing that's on my mind
Heave away, Haul away
That's leaving Nancy Blair behind
We're bound for South Australia
And as we wallop round Cape Horn
Heave away, Haul away
You'll wish to God you've never been born
We're bound for South Australia
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Friday
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
I loooooooook like a shit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
I aaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooorn.
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
Of iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinter cooooooom.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
And every Tuesday I am like a horn,
On Wednesday and Tuesday I am a horn,
I aaaaaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooooorn.
On every Friday I look like a shit,
My salary is more now a little bit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
It looks as on Sunday I was born.
On Friday morning I am so glad
That by the evening I’ll look like a fad
Or may be like a dirty pig
Trying the ground to dig, dig, dig.
But…every Monday I am like a horn,
On certain Sunday I was born,
And every Friday I am like a shit.
My life is better........, a little bit.
More or less
It was my sincere confess.
Lol, lol, lol and loooooooool.
On every Friday there is no control.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
March 16th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Beacon Fires Upon The Shore
Silent shadow ships
still sail saline seas
spent storm reborn
unobserved
phantom minstrels
unrecorded
uncharted spectres
ink fading entries
in official antique ledger.
Oh resurgent resurrection joy
forthwith lamp-lit weather
watching fleet flying fully rigged
schooner clipper windjammer
cut saline tacking windward course
through grinding salt-spitting teeth
of fabled force-ten gale or savage storm
while attempting to round Cape Horn
voyages echo through maritime history.
Sailing silent on upon
a roaring time forgotten
rough weathered livelihood
soul-sucking feared maelstorm
romantic raging to hot doldrum
breeze wind wave ebb ocean
as forthcoming future ships
on maiden voyage will sail on
upon all event variant seas.
From calm through tempest gales
horizonless beautified seas
retain unique unfathomed mysteries
as spatial spectral ships journey on
into illimitable port passing history.
From wrecks to profit salvage
from sinking to lay-ups or cut-ups
voyages turn into new history
into spectrum maritime mystery.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Adamastor
Nearing the Cape of storms
ships sail and sailors pray
to their gods to prevail
when suddenly out of the blue
storm clouds gather
and lightning bolts flash down
while unseen and like a phantom
the giant of the ages
barbaric and savage
the Titan Adamastor
watches ever morose,
resentful and unforgiving
drawing the sea in his fist
and throwing a great
unpredicted crashing wave,
causing sudden storms
and gale force winds,
calling thunder to hit down
like Thor’s hammer
and in his workshop brewing storms
and out of the granite rocks at times
where his body lies entombed
his spirit rises angry.
Numerous ships are wrecked
along the shore,
where giant elder god Adamastor
rages ashore
among the sandstone cliffs
and in anger forever more
sends storms, great winds
and throwing thick fog
to draw ships on ridges and sharp rocks.
[References: Rounding the Cape by Roy Campbell and Canto V Vasco da Gama (Os Lusiadas) by Luis de Camões.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Table Bay
The sun sets over table bay
and that rough sea lies calm
and a moon rises full,
above the waves
and the thundering breakers
roar like they did
many years before
Odysseus sailed from the island of Ithaca
and went to Troy to war
where he accompanied the heroes
Neoptolemus and Philoctetes and the
armour and shield of great Achilles,
was his to take
and for years he dwelt
on stormy seas and in far away lands.
If per chance his ship would stray
and reach the cape of storms
in another age and time
and his eyes could see
the beauty of that lovely shore,
no other place would
his ship sail to
When Bartolomeu Dias set his ships sails
and left king John ashore,
he was prepared to sail
to the ends of the earth
and no horrendous sea creature
could keep his ships in check.
I wonder what he thought
when the fog faded away
and table mount sprang into view
and table bay lay stretched out
up to its shore
and when he set his cross
did he know that he was marking
a great place
and when he marked his charts
did he wish to come back
to that stormy Cape?
When King John gave the name
Cabo da Bõa Esperança,
did he know that he was naming a place
from where a nation would sprout
and that it would become a city of hope?
[Reference: =>”Cabo da Bõa Esperança=>Cape of Good Hope”]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Little Horn
Theres an apple in the pussy mouth
Now I am the dinner whore
Theres a tumor in the t.v. mouth
Burn it out before it grows
Someone better get the dog to kick,
Jaws wired shut to save the dick
Out of the bottomless pit comes the little horn
little horn is born
The world spreads its legs for another star
World shows its face for another scar
Dead will dance for what is left
The worms will wait with baited breath
your blind have now become my deaf
So says this little horn
save yourself from this...
(chorus)
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Horn Of Africa
The Horn of Africa is full of Pirates and,
They've captured many ships;
But one day, they will live to regret their actions!
The Horn of Africa,
We need peace in this world to move on;
But robbing from one person to the other is not the solution,
So one day you have to pay for your sins.
The Golf of Aden and the Horn of Africa!
Who is there able to check on these people?
For we need peace on this earth oh my people.
Oh Somalia, why these acts of evil? !
Why can't we all live peacefully on this earth?
Live and let us live.
You claim to be sea-robbers and still pray to your God,
This is what i still don't understand on this issue;
Because action and reaction are always equal,
And you will live to regret on these actions one day.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hat Of The Stars
The cape I don is like victory concealed,
Inspiration is the reaction of this.
My breath worked more and more every day,
As the torture of the sun was above.
I looked at the sky, worse were the stars
At night, fierce was the brightness,
Like supergiants.
The cape I don works as if by magic
A cape has been donned, to adorn the head
Somehow, somewhere in this country.
The path to happiness is donned
By the head, it is the cap I wear for safety.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Cape Town
Cape Town
Is waiting for my return
So that I can go back to work
On my fishing boat
Cape Town
Is where I left my heart
During the winter months
Sleeping away
Until the summer arrives
So that I can go back
To cape Town
To wake up my heart
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Shrimp Festival Pocorn Shrimp
popcorn.a clowns horn.we, the forlorn love our adjourned.me to mourn the morn, when a trash man blows his horn.the torn banner and shrimp festival cantor, over for now, be back in the summer.what a bummer i need to bleed, summer rolls and summer feeds.look at me.did you succeed in daily winters? or are you a lover, a shrimp festival beginner?
poem by Chris Bowen
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There was an Old Man of the Cape,
Who possessed a large Barbary ape,
Till the ape one dark night
Set the house all alight,
Which burned that Old Man of the Cape.
quote by by Edward Lear
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Horn
Rhine wine, car horn
Now that youve deceived me, and played my name around
And hung those nasty flyers, on all the buildings in town
Dribbled my possessions in a ring around the earth
And bought and sold my self-control for less than it was worth
Now I know the reason that Im feeling so forlorn
Ill pick you up at eight as usual, listen for my horn
Rhine wine, car horn
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But very unfortunately the merchant marine died away till even the majority of fishing done about the Cape is in the hands of the Portuguese who emigrated to the Cape some fifty years ago.
quote by Joseph C. Lincoln
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silver Horn
"Come, rest with me now, my silver horn!
My melodious joy, my silver horn!
These many long years my constant friend,
Together let our toiling end.
Yet fain would I ask (were mine the choice)
For a moment of strength to give thee voice--
One silvery peal ere life shall cease;
But not for war--for blessed peace."
Yes! once again ring, sweet silver horn
That long ago rang on battle morn--
From vale and glen that summon'd then
To arms! to arms! a thousand men.
For peace ring now! for peace ring high!
Ring a welcoming peal that shall not die
Till mountain and mound, the earth around,
Responsive songs in echo sound.
"Thy whispers I hear, my silver horn!
My melodious joy, my silver horn!
They comfort me oft with such control,
Methinks thou hast a living soul.
Then cherish we both one calm content;
For the land that we love our powers were spent;
And o're the turf that greens our grave,
For ages may her banner wave."
"I kiss thee adieu, my silver horn!
My melodious joy, my silver horn!"
Then suddenly loos'd the bugler's clasp;
His kiss was but a dying gasp.
Yet marvels of power can love evoke:
At the touch of his lips the bugle spoke!
And wondrously sweet, and clear, and strong,
From thence outrang a silver song.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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A baby boy, recently born
had a growth on his forehead - a horn.
But the doctor remained
in his manner restrained
and he said 'I'll be back in the morn.'
quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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