POETRY.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 119, 17 October 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

THE SQUALL,

The Highest shave of death I’ve had ? Well, wait till my pipe’s alight, Throw a log of the drift-wood on the

blaze, And I’ll spin you a yarn to-night. Danger ? you’ll meet it upon the deep, Nor shun it upon the land ; I take it, the sea and the shore alike, Are held in God’s mighty hand. Many’s the tug and the tussle, The sea and I have had, Since I sailed away to the whalery, When 1 was a bit of a lad. But not on the Greenland waters, Among the floes and the pack, And not on the great Atlantic, With the gales upon our track ; And not where breakers whiten the reefs, By the cliffs of Elsinore, Have I been through such a perilous time, As last week, a mile from shore. There was me, and Bill, and Mather, All good sea-faring men ; I can handle a rope as well as most. Though I’m past three-score and ten. The wind was whispering like a bairn, In the merry April weather, The great blue sea and the great blue sky Seemed met like friends together. We’d got a fair lot of fish aboard, I turned to say to Mat, We might steer to shore : when he gripped

my arm, And swore, “ Look thou at that.” Over the calm sea, black and keen, Blotting the glow of it all, Fast, and fierce, and cruel, and strong, It came, it came, the squall. The crested waves to its summons sprang, Like tigers around the boat; Down swept the drift, wild yelled the blast, Were we still alive, and afloat ? Gone, the spot that marked the rock-buoy ; Gone, the fair faint line of home ; There was nothing but hissing water and

wind, The very air was foam. Mother baled and baled, I strove with the

sheet, She laboured—fit to fill, None on us spoke, save just to shout To the helmsman, “Mind her, Bill.” I’m none soft hearted, but I thought, How the bairns, at play on the sand, Were watching to see the boat come in, And help with the fish to land. I thought of the hearths clean swept for

us, And the poor old wife, and all, While the waves poured over the gunwale, And we tossed and drove in the squall. And I thought a prayer to Him who trod On the waters, and said, “Be still; ” Mebby a Hand wo could not see, Held the rudder, along with Bill. We weathered it, we rounded the Nab, And cleared our eyes from the sea, And just shook hands, and hauled down sail, And took to the oars, avc three. They say the ways of a Avoniau Can puzzle the wisest yet ; 1 Avot, she can never bo harder to guide Thau the old North Sea in a fret. I think I shall droAvn Avhen my day is done ; And I’d liefer rest in the deep, Than moulder up in the churchgarth there, Where the earthAvorms burroAV and creep. I’ve served the sea these sixty year, When it calls, as it will, I know, I’ll ho none so loath to hear its A'oicc, And say good-bye, and go. 1 shall better sleep Avhere the billows Sing to the seaman’s soul, Than Avhere restless footsteps tramp and pass, The Aveary church bells toll. But, till I hear and ans Aver, The great sea’s solemn call, I shall never so near touch hands Avith death As on that spring day in the squall.