He evermore must wander the ooze

Beneath the wave,

Forlorn—to warn of the tempest born,

And to save—to save!

Then go, go in! and leave us the sea,

For only so

Can peace release us and give us ease

Of our salty woe.

[Pg 29]

[Pg 29]

ON THE MOOR

1

I met a child upon the moor

A-wading down the heather;

She put her hand into my own,

We crossed the fields together.

I led her to her father's door—

A cottage mid the clover.

I left her—and the world grew poor

To me, a childless rover.

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