The Boilermakers Son

This is a melding of anapaestic and dactylic tetrameter, Trochaic hexameter and iambic pentameter. I expect the form is old-hat to many poets, but I found the syllabic constraints and changes in rhythm quite intriguing, and somewhat of a challenge to write. 

In the first living hour of my day, dear beloved
Even in infancy, destiny called to me
Sweet the voice that drifted from beyond your shores
On mists o'er Irish Sea 'cross Mersey Bar 
And I knew in the heart of my youth, o' beloved
She would not suffer for me to remain with you
Softly she would call my name one fateful day
And take me o'er the ocean's waves afar 
As the hour of my day approached six, my beloved
Destiny's yearning was burning, consuming me
April's stormy waves echoed haunting cries 
With passion I embraced the nymph of fate
On the wings of adventure elated, beloved
Borne across oceans of darkest profundity
into crimson skies where setting sun declines 
To lands of gentle airs and starry skies
And at noon on the day of my life, dear beloved
Far from the land of my ancestors legacy
Boldly in exotic fields of passion's fruit
I harvested sweet bounties of desire 
But that lady of fate is capricious beloved
Destiny's fealty endures only fleetingly
Cruelly she imprisoned me in my delusion 
To drift, a northern isle in Carib seas
Now I drown in these seas of contrition beloved
Caught in a vortex of turquoise blue misery
Breathing long forgotten threads of carefree youth
If only I could stop the tick of time 
But the clock of my life stands at eight, sweet beloved
Distantly echoes of home cry out longingly
Begging my return to your enchanted shores
O' England, homeland, bring me back to you.