Volume Iii Part 66 (1/2)

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph, the Rover, walked his deck, And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing; His heart was mirthful to excess; But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, ”My men, put out the boat; And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And cut the Bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose, and burst around.

Quoth Sir Ralph, ”The next who comes to the Rock Will not bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

Sir Ralph, the Rover, sailed away, He scoured the seas for many a day; And now, grown rich with plundered store, He steers his course for Scotland's sh.o.r.e.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky They cannot see the Sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, ”It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”

”Canst hear,” said one, ”the breakers roar?

For yonder, methinks, should be the sh.o.r.e.”

”Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”

They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a s.h.i.+vering shock,-- ”O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock.”

Sir Ralph, the Rover, tore his hair; He cursed himself in his despair.

The waves rush in on every side; The s.h.i.+p is sinking beneath the tide.

But, even in his dying fear, One dreadful sound he seemed to hear,-- A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, The Devil below was ringing his knell.

Robert Southey [1774-1843]

THE SEA

Through the night, through the night, In the saddest unrest, Wrapped in white, all in white, With her babe on her breast, Walks the mother so pale, Staring out on the gale, Through the night!

Through the night, through the night, Where the sea lifts the wreck, Land in sight, close in sight, On the surf-flooded deck, Stands the father so brave, Driving on to his grave Through the night!

Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903]

THE SANDS OF DEE

”O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee!”

The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she.