Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Joanna Baillie (1762–1851)

Fisherman’s Song

NO fish stir in our heaving net,

And the sky is dark and the night is wet;

And we must ply the lusty oar,

For the tide is ebbing from the shore;

And sad are they whose faggots burn,

So kindly stored for our return.

Our boat is small, and the tempest raves,

And nought is heard but the lashing waves

And the sullen roar of the angry sea

And the wild winds piping drearily;

Yet sea and tempest rise in vain,

We ’ll bless our blazing hearths again.

Push bravely, mates! Our guiding star

Now from its towerlet streameth far,

And now along the nearing strand,

See, swiftly moves yon flaming brand:

Before the midnight watch be past

We ’ll quaff our bowl and mock the blast.