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For there will come the sailors,

Their voices I shall hear,
And at casting of the anchor
The yo-ho loud and clear;
And at hauling of the anchor
The yo-ho and the cheer,-
Farewell, my love, for to thy bay
I never more may steer.

W. Allingham

XLV

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sail'd the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,

That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor,
Had sail'd the Spanish Main,
'I pray thee put into yonder port,
For I fear the hurricane.

'Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see !'

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the north-east ;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

'Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale,

That ever wind did blow.'

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

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And bound her to the mast.

'O father! I hear the church bells ring, O say, what may it be?'

"Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!' And he steered for the open sea.

O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be?'

'Some ship in distress that cannot live In such an angry sea!'

'O father! I see a gleaming light,

O say, what may it be?'

But the father answered never a word,—
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turn'd to the skies,

The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ;

And she thought of Christ who stilled the waves On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
T'wards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,

And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Look'd soft as carded wool,

But the cruel rocks they gored her sides
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared.

At day-break on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow;

Heav'n save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe!

H. W. Longfellow

XLVI

A CANADIAN BOAT SONG

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on the shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;

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But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Utawas' tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens, and favouring airs. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. T. Moore

XLVII
ROSABELLE

O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew,
And gentle lady, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

'The blackening wave is edged with white ;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,
Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.

'Last night the gifted seer did view

A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?'

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