132 fishermen's memopwIal and record book. 



Bometimes to me the breeze off-ehoro 



Comes out upon the water, 

 As if it left the grave of her — 



No -wife to me nor daughter. 

 Lor! if I knowed where green or no 



The turf is sweet above her, 

 I'd buy a bit o' ground there. — wide 



As a gull's wings would cover. 



We know the tricks of wind an' tide 



That mean an' make disaster. 

 An' balk 'em, too— the " Wren " an' me — 



Off on the 01' Man's Pastur', 

 Day out an' in the blackfish there 



Go wabblin' out an' under, 

 An' nights we watch the coasters creep 



From light to light in yonder. 



An' then ag'in we lay an' lay 



Off Wonson's Cove or Oakses— 

 None go by our compass-light, 



Nor we by other folkscs. 

 Ashore, the ball-room winders shine 



Till weary feet arc warnin'. 

 But here an' there's a sick-room light 



That winks away till mornin'. 



An' Sundays we go nigher in, 



To hear the bells a-n'ngin', — 

 I aint no hand for sermons, you. 



But singin's allcrs eingin'. 

 The weathercocks — no two agree — 



Like men they arg' an' differ, 

 While in the cuddy-way I set 



An' take my pipe, an' whiff her. 



My pipe — eh ! p'ison ? mighty s-l-o-'w; 



It makes my dreamin' clearer. 

 Though what I fill it with now-days 



Is growin' dearer 'n' dearer. 

 I takes my comfort when it comes^ 



Then no lee-lurch can spill it. 

 An' if my net is empty. Lor' 1 



Why, how can growlin'^ fill it? 



An' so we jog the hours away. 



The gulls they coo an' tattle. 

 Till on the hill the sundown red 



Starts up the drowsin' cattle. 

 The seiners row their jiggers by; 



I pull the slide half over, 

 An' shet the shore out, an' the smell 



Of sea-weed eweeter'n clover. 



Scribner's Monthly. 



THE TIDE, 



BT HENRY A. KEJTDALt. 



The tide is in, anon is out, 

 Nor lingers at the turning; 



And man, as restless as the sea, 

 Its thriftlessness is learning; 



Two busy brothers gathering in, 

 And having gathered, spuming. 



The waves bring pearls upon the shore, 

 Yet on the shore no pearls there be : 



For fortune varies ebb and flow. 

 And with the waves' monotony ; 



For hopes, like pearls and shells, come in, 

 But with the tide go out to sea. 



