THE THREE FISHERS. Three fishers went sailing out into the West, Out into the West as the sun went down ; Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbour-bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, down, And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Three corpses lay out on the shining sands, In the morning gleam, as the tide went down, And the women are watching and wringing their hands, For those who will never come home to the town. But men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. Kingsley. LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT, I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high— And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends, Your's was the good, brave heart, Mary, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone ; There was comfort ever on your lip, I thank you for the patient smile I'm biddin' you a long farewell, They say there's bread and work for all, And often in those grand old woods And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side: And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. Lady Gifford. SHATTERED IDOLS. Oh, shattered idols, framed of fragile glass, We thought were jewels! Yet the day may come When every fragment which lies shattered now Monro. |