 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE HERRING FLEET
In the golden Autumn gloaming
Our sweethearts loosed away,
And their hookers brown went foaming
Full race o'er Galway Bay.
But through all their shouts and singing
Broke in the breaker's tune,
And the ghostly gulls came winging,
In flocks to the frowning dune,
And angry red was ringing
The rising harvest moon.
Our sweethearts loosed away,
And their hookers brown went foaming
Full race o'er Galway Bay.
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Broke in the breaker's tune,
And the ghostly gulls came winging,
In flocks to the frowning dune,
And angry red was ringing
The rising harvest moon.
Then we girls went back to our spinning,
But soon grew sore distressed
To hear the storm beginning
Far off in the wailing west.
Till fearful lightning flashes
Came darting round our reels—
And dreadful thunder crashes
Made dumb our dancing wheels,
While with lips as white as ashes
We prayed for our fishing keels.
But soon grew sore distressed
To hear the storm beginning
Far off in the wailing west.
Till fearful lightning flashes
Came darting round our reels—
And dreadful thunder crashes
Made dumb our dancing wheels,
While with lips as white as ashes
We prayed for our fishing keels.
In the wild wet dawn we started
In grief to the groaning shore,
Where so lightly we had parted
From our boys but the eve before.
Then sure no angel's story
Ever spoke such comfort sweet
As the cry of the coastguard hoary,
As he sighted each craft complete:
“Our God has saved—to His glory—
All hands of the herring fleet.”
In grief to the groaning shore,
Where so lightly we had parted
From our boys but the eve before.
Then sure no angel's story
Ever spoke such comfort sweet
As the cry of the coastguard hoary,
As he sighted each craft complete:
“Our God has saved—to His glory—
All hands of the herring fleet.”
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |