Old Samarai

I’VE seen the time in Samarai When twenty men or more Would with each other keenly vie For payment of the score.

When gold is being freely won There’s always cash about— Each miner reckons it good fun For all the crowd to shout.

The divers in the China Strait Were doing fairly well They paid their way, at any rate.

With pearl and trochus shell.

And in the pubs at eve or morn.

Though fortunes were not made You’d see from dusk, till day was born.

The game of banker played.

Each man was then the other’s friend— There were no rich or poor.

Each one his gold would freely spend— Then go in search of more.

The tough old traders from the coast.

When drinking with the crowd, Of their old tubs would loudly boast.

Each of his schooner proud.

Men from all corners of the earth Met on that tiny isle; They’d left the places of their birth, Each seeking fortune’s smile.

It took so very long to get— They spent it as it came.

They lost no time in vain regret— Life was a happy game.

Nicholas, tough sailorman, Before he passed away.

Left money with each publican A final shout to pay.

This little pirate, hard and brown, Craved smiling faces there, And merry men to lay him down To rest on old Logeia.

So many of the good old school From here have had to go— Inman, Steele and Liverpool, Finnegan, Elliot, Crowe.

All old-timers tough and game Friends of an early day— Old Samarai is not the same Now they have passed away.