"But fishing-folks have much to do; my lover could not stay-- The gallant Gloucester fleet was bound to waters far away, Where wild storms swoop, and shattering fogs muster their dim, gray ranks, And spread a winding-sheet for men upon the fatal Banks. And he, my Joe, must go to reap the harvest of the deep, While I, like other women, stayed behind to mourn and weep, And I would see his face no more till autumn woods were brown. His schooner _Nan_ was swift and new, the pride of Gloucester town; He called her by my name. ''Tis sure to bring me luck,' said Joe. She spread her wings, and through my tears I stood and watched her go. "The days grew hot and long; I sewed the crisp and shining seams Of this, my wedding-gown, and dreamed a thousand happy dreams Of future years and Joe, while leaf and bud and sweet marsh-flower I fashioned on the muslin fine, for many a patient hour. In Gloucester wood the wild rose bloomed, and shed its sweets and died, And dry and tawny grew the grass along the marshes wide. The last stitch in my gown was set; I looked across the sea-- 'Fly fast, oh, time, fly fast!' I said, 'and bring him home to me; And I will deck my yellow hair and don my bridal gown, The day the gallant fishing-fleet comes back to Gloucester town!' "The rough skies darkened o'er the deep, loud blew the autumn gales; With anxious eyes the fishers' wives watched for the home-bound sails From Gloucester shore, and Rockport crags, lashed by the breakers dread, From cottage doors of Beverly, and rocks of Marblehead. Ah, child, with trembling hand I set my candle at the pane, With fainting heart and choking breath, I heard the dolorous rain-- The sea that beat the groaning beach with wild and thunderous shocks, The black death calling, calling from the savage equinox; The flap of sails, the crash of masts, or so it seemed to me, And cries of strong men drowning in the clutches of the sea. "I never wore my wedding-gown, so crisp and fine and fair; I never decked with bridal flowers my pretty yellow hair, No bridegroom came to claim me when the autumn leaves were sear, For there was bitter wailing on the rugged coast that year; And vain was further vigil from its rocks and beaches brown For never did the fishing-fleet sail back to Gloucester town. "'Twas fifty years ago. There, child, put back the faded dress, My winding-sheet of youth and hope, into the oaken press. My life hath known no other joy, my heart no other glow, Feeble and worn, it still beats on in faithful love for Joe; And, like some hulk cast on a shore by waters sore distressed, I wait until he calls me from his own good place of rest."