1893
  Away by the lands of the Japanee
  Where the paper lanterns glow
  And the crews of all the shipping drink
  In the house of Blood Street Joe,
  At twilight, when the landward breeze
  Brings up the harbour noise,
  And ebb of Yokohama Bay
  Swigs chattering through the buoys,
  In Cisco's Dewdrop Dining-Rooms
  They tell the tale anew
  Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
  When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light
  And the Stralsund fought the two.
 
Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,
When ye come by his isles in the Smoky Sea ye must not take the seal,
Where the gray sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they breed for themselves.
For when the matkas^[1] seek the shore to drop their pups aland,
The great man-seal haul out of the sea, a-roaring, band by band;
And when the first September gales have slaked their rutting-wrath,
The great man-seal haul back to the sea and no man knows their path.