But sailors were born for all weathers,
Great guns let it blow, high or low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

C. Dibdin

XLIII

THE FISHERMAN

A perilous life, and sad as life may be,
Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea,

O'er the wild waters labouring far from home,
For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam :
Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life,
And none to aid him in the stormy strife:
Companion of the sea and silent air,

The lonely fisher thus must ever fare :

Without the comfort, hope,-with scarce a friend,

He looks through life and only sees its end!

B. Cornwall

XLIV

THE SAILOR

Thou that hast a daughter

For one to woo and wed,
Give her to a husband

With snow upon his head:
Oh, give her to an old man,
Though little joy it be,
Before the best young sailor

That sails upon the sea!

How luckless is the sailor
When sick and like to die,
He sees no tender mother,

No sweetheart standing by.

Only the captain speaks to him,—
Stand up, stand up, young man,
And steer the ship to haven,

As none beside thee can.

Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up ;'
I say to thee, take hold,

Lift me a little from the deck,

My hands and feet are cold.

And let my head, I pray thee,
With handkerchiefs be bound:
There, take my love's gold handkerchief,
And tie it tightly round.

Now bring the chart, the doleful chart ;
See where these mountains meet-
The clouds are thick around their head,
The mists around their feet:
Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safe
Within the rocky cleft;

The little anchor on the right,

The great one on the left.

And now to thee, O captain,
Most earnestly I pray,
That they may never bury me
In church or cloister grey;
But on the windy sea-beach,
At the ending of the land,
All on the surfy sea-beach,
Deep down into the sand.

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,

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.