| |
| YOU see the gentle water, | |
| How silently it floats, | |
| How cautiously, how steadily | |
| It moves the sleepy boats; | |
| And all the little loops of pearl | 5 |
| It strews along the sand | |
| Steal out as leisurely as leaves, | |
| When summer is at hand. | |
| |
| But you know it can be angry, | |
| And thunder from its rest, | 10 |
| When the stormy taunts of winter | |
| Are flying at its breast; | |
| And if you like to listen, | |
| And draw your chairs around, | |
| I ’ll tell you what it did one night, | 15 |
| When you were sleeping sound. | |
| |
| The merry boats of Brixham | |
| Go out to search the seas,— | |
| A stanch and sturdy fleet are they, | |
| Who love a swinging breeze; | 20 |
| And before the woods of Devon, | |
| And the silver cliffs of Wales, | |
| You may see when summer evenings fall, | |
| The light upon their sails. | |
| |
| But when the year grows darker, | 25 |
| And gray winds hunt the foam, | |
| They go back to little Brixham, | |
| And ply their toils at home. | |
| And thus it chanced one winter’s day, | |
| When a storm began to roar, | 30 |
| That all the men were out at sea, | |
| And all the wives on shore. | |
| |
| Then as the wind grew fiercer, | |
| The women’s cheeks grew white,— | |
| It was fiercer in the twilight, | 35 |
| And fiercest in the night. | |
| The strong clouds set themselves like ice, | |
| Without a star to melt; | |
| The blackness of the darkness | |
| Was something to be felt. | 40 |
| |
| The storm, like an assassin, | |
| Went on its secret way, | |
| And struck a hundred boats adrift | |
| To reel about the bay. | |
| They meet, they crash,—God keep the men! | 45 |
| God give a moment’s light! | |
| There is nothing but the tumult, | |
| And the tempest and the night. | |
| |
| The men on shore were anxious,— | |
| They grieved for what they knew: | 50 |
| What do you think the women did? | |
| Love taught them what to do! | |
| Outspoke a wife: “We ’ve beds at home, | |
| We ’ll burn them for a light! | |
| Give us the men and the bare ground! | 55 |
| We want no more to-night.” | |
| |
| They took the grandame’s blanket, | |
| Who shivered and bade them go; | |
| They took the baby’s pillow, | |
| Who could not say them no; | 60 |
| And they heaped a great fire on the pier, | |
| And knew not all the while | |
| If they were heaping a bonfire, | |
| Or only a funeral pile. | |
| |
| And, fed with precious food, the flame | 65 |
| Shone bravely on the black, | |
| Till a cry rang through the people,— | |
| “A boat is coming back!” | |
| Staggering dimly through the fog, | |
| They see and then they doubt; | 70 |
| But, when the first prow strikes the pier, | |
| Cannot you hear them shout? | |
| |
| Then all along the breadth of flame | |
| Dark figures shrieked and ran, | |
| With, “Child, here comes your father!” | 75 |
| Or, “Wife, is this your man?” | |
| And faint feet touch the welcome shore, | |
| And stay a little while; | |
| And kisses drop from frozen lips, | |
| Too tired to speak or smile. | 80 |
| |
| So, one by one, they struggled in, | |
| All that the sea would spare: | |
| We will not reckon through our tears | |
| The names that were not there; | |
| But some went home without a bed, | 85 |
| When all the tale was told, | |
| Who were too cold with sorrow | |
| To know the night was cold. | |
| |
| And this is what the men must do, | |
| Who work in wind and foam; | 90 |
| And this is what the women bear, | |
| Who watch for them at home. | |
| So when you see a Brixham boat | |
| Go out to face the gales, | |
| Think of the love that travels | 95 |
| Like light upon her sails. | |
| |
