The Pilot’s Wife (Published in ‘Bulo,’ in 1871)
The full moon laboured on through clouds,
The north blast bent the tree,
Which fell in fearful heavy squalls
Upon the troubled sea.
Beside the lattice Martha stood
Beyond the lonely bay,
And sighed, amid her pressing tears,
“Why does he so delay?”
And then she sought her little room,
And trimmed the fading fire,
And o’er the cradle bent, where smiled
The image of his sire,
Their darling boy, their fair firstborn,
‘T was luxury to survey.
She kissed his brow, and sadly sighed,
“Why does he so delay?”
The moon went down, the wind rolled on,
The trees rocked wilder still,
And like a fire the great sun rose
Above the eastern hill.
Beside her lattice Martha stands
In mornings early ray,
With this sad burden on her lips,
“Why does he so delay?”
The storm blew out, the winds were hushed,
The sea was rough no more;
The sparrows piped upon the eaves,
The robin by the door.
The Thatcher on the lonely barn
Shaved the white reed away;
And still she by her lattice sighed,
“Why does he so delay?”
And then a man came travelling fast;
His step was on the stone,
His well known carol in her ear,
His arms around her thrown.
A kiss upon her upturned face;
The tear was brushed away;
And Martha sobbed, amid her smiles,
“Why did you so delay?”
