THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD.
175
"O Holy Virgin! be their guard!" the weeping women cried;
The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats cleave through the tide.
As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, in a line
The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phosphor-lighted brine.
Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers! All your prayers they sorely need
To save them from the wrath they've roused by their rebellious greed.
Oh! white-haired men and little babes, and weeping sweethearts, pray
To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford Bay!
The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the nets are thrown,
The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing sea wind's moan:
