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Bog-land Studies

By J. Barlow: 3rd ed

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XIII

An' the thought of us each was the boat; och, however 'd she stand it at all,
If she'd started an hour or two back, an' been caught in the thick o' that squall?
Sure it's lost she was, barrin' by luck it so chanced she'd run under the lee
O'Point Bertragh or Inish Lonane; an' 'twas liker the crathurs 'ud be
Crossin' yonder the open, wid never a shelter, but waves far an' wide
Rowlin' one on the other till ye'd seem at the fut of a mad mountain-side.

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An' the best we could hope was they'd seen that the weather'd be turnin' out quare,
An' might, happen, ha' settled they wouldn't come over, but bide where they were.
Yet, begorrah! 'twould be the quare weather en- tirely, as some of us said,
That 'ud put Misther Denis off aught that he'd fairly tuk into his head.
Thin Tim Duigan sez: ‘Arrah, lads, whisht! afther sailin' thro' oceans o' say,
Don't tell me he's naught better to do than get dhrowned in our dhrop of a bay.'’
An' the words were scarce out of his mouth, whin hard by, thro'a dhrift o' the haze,
The ould boat we beheld sthrivin' on in the storm —och the yell we did raise!
An' it's little we yelled for, bedad! for, next instant, there under our eyes,
Not a couple o' perch from the pier-end, th' ould baste she must take an' capsize.