THE HOME-COMING OF THE‘ EURYDICE’

Up with the royals that top the white spread of her!

Press her and dress her, and drive through the foam;

The Island's to port, and the mainland ahead of her,

Hey for the Warner and Hayling and Home!

Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just look at the green of it!

Look at the red cattle down by the hedge!

Look at the farmsteading — all that is seen of it,

One little gable end over the edge!’

‘ Lord! the tongues of them clattering, clattering,

All growing wild at a peep of the Wight;

Aye, sir, aye, it has set them all chattering,

Thinking of home and their mothers to-night.’

Spread the topgallants — oh, lay them out lustily!

What though it darken o'er Netherby Combe?

‘ Tis but the valley wind, puffing so gustily -

On for the Warner and Hayling and Home!

‘ Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just see the long slope of it!

Culver is there, with the cliff and the light.

Tell us, oh tell us, now is there a hope of it?

Shall we have leave for our homes for to-night?’

‘ Tut, the clack of them! Steadily! Steadily!

Aye, as you say, sir, they're little ones still;

One long reach should open it readily,

Round by St. Helens and under the hill.

‘ The Spit and the Nab are the gates of the promise,

Their mothers to them — and to us it's our wives.

I've sailed forty years, and — By God it's upon us!

Down royals, Down top'sles, down, down, for your lives!’

A grey swirl of snow with the squall at the back of it,

Heeling her, reeling her, beating her down!

A gleam of her bends in the thick of the wrack of it,

A flutter of white in the eddies of brown.

It broke in one moment of blizzard and blindness;

The next, like a foul bat, it flapped on its way.

But our ship and our boys! Gracious Lord, in your kindness,

Give help to the mothers who need it to-day!

Give help to the women who wait by the water,

Who stand on the Hard with their eyes past the Wight.

Ah! whisper it gently, you sister or daughter,

‘ Our boys are all gathered at home for to-night.’