The Vessel still to seaward Came drifting down the bay, And, steering into leeward In surf and rain and spray, Athwart her sides we floated; And there on deck we noted, With faces outward gazing, Their piteous hands upraising As all forlorn they lay, A helpless band together (Like birds in wintry weather With feather pressed to feather Close huddled from the blast); A moment, weirdly flashing, We saw them,'mid the lashing Of billows wildly dashing O'er bulwark, deck and mast. VI. Four times we all but touched her, Four times adrift were flung, The fifth I sprang and clutched her, And leech-like there I clung; And thus to Guy's enclasping, With one arm tightly grasping, Those famished forms I lowered, Till, well-nigh overpowered, I trembled where I hung. Then Guy and Wilfred, straining, New strength from victory gaining, Drew down the last remaining, Till all were safely stowed; And shoreward with our treasure, All pain transformed to pleasure, With oars in mirthful measure At break of dawn we rowed. VII. Ay, well do I remember The morning stormy-bright That dawn of wild September, As through the breakers white We rowed the brave boat laden With man and babe and maiden, While o'er the sandy spaces, The dawn-beams on their faces, Looked out with straining sight The crowd that there had waited, Each heart with anguish freighted, As slow the storm abated Along the Brittas strand; And how they cheered us, rending The winds, as slow ascending, Beneath our burthens bending, We waded to the land; VIII. And when the last was landed, And homeward faint and cold We turned, how, eager-handed, (Guy leading as of old), High on their shoulders proudly They set me, cheering loudly, And bore me on, declaring The triumph of my daring;-- And how my love I told That eve amid the gloaming To Rose as we were roaming Where Aughrim stream was foaming, And how she smiled and sighed, And,'mid the sunset's splendour, Laying her white hand slender In mine in love's surrender, My prayer no more denied. ----G. F. Savage-Armstrong. [Illustration: 0306] The Sailor Girl [Illustration: 9307] |When the Wild Geese were flying to Flanders away, I clung to my Desmond beseeching him stay, But the stern trumpet sounded the summons to sea, And afar the ship bore him, _Mabouchal machree_.* And first he sent letters, and then he sent none, And three times into prison I dreamt he was thrown; So I shore my long tresses, and stain'd my face brown, And went for a sailor from Limerick Town. * My heart's own boy. Oh! the ropes cut my fingers, but steadfast I strove, Till I reached the Low Country in search of my love. There I heard how at Namur his heart was so high,