(With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
I am the ascendant Mariner,
And I striketh soon of thee.
by my whipsaw arm and crafty spin,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
He looketh me with wav’ring eye—
My victim-guest stood still,
And listened like a three years' child
As the umpire spoke his ill.
I flung without my iron hand,
“Where was the pitch?” quoth he.
“Hold off! unhand me, swift-thrown doom!”
Eftsoons he striketh three.
My victim-guest sat on the bench:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that umpire man,
Of the ascendant Mariner.
The inning came now to the home,
From out dugout came I
One Maniger bright, and with my might
Shot through the infield fly.
The victim-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that umpire man,
Of the ascendant Mariner.
Valencia came and I
Was tyrannous and strong:
I swung with my o'ertaking wings,
And wallop’d the ball er-long.
My wroth was cheered, the bases cleared,
As Zunino did merrily pop
above the kirk, above the hill,
above the lighthouse top.
Higher and higher with every swing,
Till over the mast at noon—'
The victim-guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the trump of doom.
My Gamelian strike into the ball,
Strong as an oxen free;
Nodding my head I swung their dread
A merry velocity
A good south wind sprung up behind;
Seagerian blast to follow,
And in every play, in daunting way,
The victim-guest did wallow
With sloping soul and dipping heart,
As those pursued by dread
The foe sank fast, whimp’ring his last,
As downward aye he fled.
Thirteen to three, a mighty tree
As to a gangling sprout
I am the west divisions’ best,
victorious in the rout
The truth is here, the truth is there,
The truth is all around:
It cracks and growls, and roars and howls,
A reverberating sound
Rings out “Ascendant Mariner!”
From the crowd a joyous cry
Now all will know by bat and throw
Ascendant Mariner am I!