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Sonnets Round the Coast

by H. D. Rawnsley
  

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154

VIII. A RETROSPECT.

OFF TO THE FISHING-GROUND, RUNSWICK.

With stout storm-jacket o'er their shoulders cast,
Their food sealed safe against the waves in hand,
Bravely they turned toward the barren strand,
Forgetful of the misadventures past;
Down to the shore the children hurried fast.
Knee-deep, the sturdy three on breakers stand,
Push at the boat—she quivers—leaves the sand,
And soon the brown sail bellies from the mast.
The sun dropped down; far off, the fishers knew
The smother on the darkening cliff to be
The breath of fires that warmed the household meal;
And all night long, that cloud was clear in view,
Though every boat had dropped behind the sea,
And herring-moonlight flashed about each keel.