Leviathan
Who can read the mind of a whale;
Or who interpret its strange voice
Which tunes its throbbing notes to suit
The deep sea-currents’ telegraph
And reach the furthest cetan ear?.
Who can learn the ways of a whale,
Or who predict its unseen paths
Amid the ocean pasturage
Searching for krill, plankton or fish?.
Who does not marvel at the sight
Of that enormous muscular
Physique, which shoulders off the weight
Of cleaving waters easily
As, salmon-like, it breaches with
Thunderous playful elegance?.
Who can observe that fountain-spray
Of air and water vapourised —
Or hear its rumbling forcefulness
Exhaling from those mighty lungs
After a silent sounding-dive —
And yet not feel a sense of awe
At such tremendous energy?.
Who can be pleased when a harpoon
Strikes sharp, deep and explosively
To seek the muscled heart and haul
Its life to death through bloody froth
And agonised, convulsive flesh?.
As that great life bubbles away,
Slowly, in gore-stained flounderings,
Who can desire that this should be
For sake of soap and corset-stays,
For buttons and for oil-lamp fuel,
Or food for pampered household pets?.
And who can watch the flensing-blades
Strip those vast bones of flesh and nerve,
Without grief at the wasteful loss
Of one of Nature’s noblest beasts?.
Who finds a whale in its domain
Surround by its family,
Browsing or crooning peacefully,
Knows this leviathan to be
Epitome of gentleness.
Its long, lean flukes steer that huge bulk
With delicate precision whilst
The horizontal tail impels
It through the aqueous surrounds
With consummate facility.
Far from the haunts of humankind
Whales spend their days in tranquilness.
Their kindly eyes have never shewn
An angry glare; their massive forms,
(Most powerful in all the world!),
No threat of violence displayed
Towards the lesser denizens
Frequenting their close neighbourhood.
When danger looms — mankind alone
Offers them enmity — they send
Their elderly and juveniles
Away and then attempt to lead
The ruthless hunters in a chase —
That often ends in painful death,
Since they are handicapped by need
To surface frequently for breath —
That sometimes lasts for hours on end
Before exhaustion saps their speed.
And when that gallant race is lost
And they must make the sacrifice
For their nobility, (just as
The vicious barbs strike deeply down
To drag their forfeit lives from them),
Their heart-torn groans re-echo long
And piercingly — in pulsing tones
Doom-booming through the viewless wastes
That flow about the ocean floor —
Telling distant brethren the news
That this last race had failed and now,
With no hope of a safe escape,
The time has come to know the pains,
(Dealt by the harpoon’s fatal force),
Of failure’s lethal penalty.
Who can read the mind of a whale,
Or who can understand its thoughts?.
Who can interpret its strange voice
Or know its unseen, pathless ways?.
Who does not grieve upon the death
Of such a gentle giant?. Who
Would not prefer that it should thrive
In undisturbed tranquility
Befitting its true majesty?.
