A Poet's Harvest Home Being One Hundred Short Poems: By William Bell Scott ... With an Aftermath of Twenty Short Poems |
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THE HURRICANE.
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 | A Poet's Harvest Home |  |
32
THE HURRICANE.
This morn the wind flew through the trees
Like a flock of driven game,
And as the morning passed to noon
It waxed into a raving flame.
Like a flock of driven game,
And as the morning passed to noon
It waxed into a raving flame.
These fisher lads that yesterday
Rowed us to the fresh green sea,
Said they were bound to start betimes,
For whitings round by Ailsa's lee.
Rowed us to the fresh green sea,
Said they were bound to start betimes,
For whitings round by Ailsa's lee.
Heaven help them in this furious gale;
I'll make my way down to the strand,
And see if both friends, Rob and Will,
Have got safe back to wife and land.
I'll make my way down to the strand,
And see if both friends, Rob and Will,
Have got safe back to wife and land.
It was no easy thing to do,
To struggle with the gale to-day,
To struggle and conquer, one strong man,
Buttoned up on firm foot-way.
To struggle with the gale to-day,
To struggle and conquer, one strong man,
Buttoned up on firm foot-way.
But down upon the quay the surf
Flew, blinding eyes and over head,
And there amidst the coil I found
Little Effie wild with dread.
Flew, blinding eyes and over head,
And there amidst the coil I found
Little Effie wild with dread.
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She could not hear, I could not speak,
The roaring of the winds forbade,
So there I made her cling to me,
And this is what may now be said.
The roaring of the winds forbade,
So there I made her cling to me,
And this is what may now be said.
Her hood was gone, her loosened hair
Shot round us like a tangled net,
But still she stared across the bar
Through blinding locks and blind seafret.
Shot round us like a tangled net,
But still she stared across the bar
Through blinding locks and blind seafret.
For there she knew the boat, my God!
Where Robin rowed and Willie steered,
Between the grey wall and the bay,
With spray and mist obscurely bleared.
Where Robin rowed and Willie steered,
Between the grey wall and the bay,
With spray and mist obscurely bleared.
Ah! will they do it, can it live,—
Their coble in that hurricane,
Rocks below and walls to face?
Effie wiped her eyes in pain,
But still I thought she could not see,
She wiped them, wiped them yet again.
Their coble in that hurricane,
Rocks below and walls to face?
Effie wiped her eyes in pain,
But still I thought she could not see,
She wiped them, wiped them yet again.
Is it over, has it mounted in?
Yes, yes, oh, little Effie, now
Let me wipe your eyes once more,
Willie knows you from the prow.
Yes, yes, oh, little Effie, now
Let me wipe your eyes once more,
Willie knows you from the prow.
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