The Fisherman's Wife.
By Thomas Frederick Young
The fisherman's wife stood on the beach.
One chilly April day,
And far out on the lake she look'd,
And o'er the waves, away.
The ice which late had spann'd for miles
This rolling, inland sea,
Had now releas'd its wintry grasp
The long pent waves were free.
And now resistlessly they roll'd,
And frightful was the sound,
As cakes of ice, dash'd to and fro,
Against each other ground.
A north-west wind had lately lash'd
The waves to fury wild,
But now they fast were sinking down,
Like tam'd and frighten'd child.
The woman caught their soughing sound,
As tho' she heard a groan,
And heard them roll upon the beach,
With sad and solemn moan
For late, with wild, hilarious glee,
Their reckless course had run,
And now, it seem'd as if they thought
Of all the ill they'd done.
The fisherman's wife stood on the beach,
And still her eyes did strain,
To catch of mast or sail, a glimpse,
Upon the inland main.
The woman turn'd her from the beach,
Loose flow'd her streaming hair,
And, louder than the white-rob'd gull,
She shriek'd in wild despair.
Three days ago her husband had,
For wife and children's sake,
Dar'd changeful gales and floating ice,
Upon the treach'rous lake.
With two stout hearts he left the shore,
To reach the fishing "grounds,"
Undaunted by the freezing winds,
Or ice-floes crushing sounds.
They reach'd the grounds, but scarce had turn'd
Upon the homeward track,
When came the wild nor'wester down
On their frail fishing smack.
Yes, wring your hands, thou fisher's wife,
For thou hast cause to wail
For him who left the fishing "grounds"
In that wild north-west gale.
'Mid frozen snow, and blocks of ice,
And fiercely rolling waves,
He and his little crew went down,
Uncoffin'd, to their graves.