Metrical tales, and other poems; - Electric Scotland

THE STROMA MAN'S YARN. 89
And once my brother roused me up,
And bade me ply my oar,
For ho knew the land was close at hand
By the breakers' constant roar.
But we sat for the most in dull suspense,
And waited the dawn of day.
When haply the glorious sun might shine
And the fogs might fly away.
It was cold indeed, but scarcely dark.
Through the whole of the tedious night,
For the only sign that day had broke
Was a change in the line of light.
And at last the sun displayed his face.
Yet high in the east was he,
Ere ever the misty curtain rose,
Eevealing the tranquil sea.
And we found ourselves in the western main,
A league to the west of Hoy
But the flood was bearing us steadily east.
And we hailed our home with joy.
I do not say that we suffered much
From either fatigue or fright.
Nor yet that we ran a deadly risk
In a tranquil summer night.
I have known of men who have dared as much.
For a double share of grog
But still it's far from a pleasant thing
To be lost at sea in a fog.