Poems (Campbell)/The Zetland Fisherman

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN.

Oh! fair arose the summer dawn,
 No sullen mist was seen to lour;
Night's dreary shadows were withdrawn,
 And morning brought her golden hour.

Soft was the air, and breathing balm;
 The sea-fowl clamour'd on the shore;
The sky serene, the ocean calm,
 And hush'd the breakers' deaf'ning roar.

And slowly in the glitt'ring east,
 His orient head the Sun uprais'd;
His beamy splendours round him cast,
 On rock and steep refulgent blaz'd.

A trembling stream of glory lay
 Across the ocean's rippling bed,
And quick his bright beams sipp'd away
 The dew-drop from each grassy blade.

The soaring lark had mock'd the eye,
 But still was heard his matin song;
The sea-gull floats with restless cry;
 The hungry raven flits along;

And heard was many a female voice,
 That echo'd o'er the rocky shore,
And lisping children gay rejoice,
 And listen for the distant oar.

At length the six-oar'd boat appears,
 Slow moving o'er th' unruffled tide;
Their long, long stay with artless tears,
 The little prattlers fondly chide—

"How couldst thou stay so long at sea?
 High blew the wind, and mammy wept;
We could not sleep, but thought on thee,
 Though sweetly little Mary slept."

Anxious the wife her husband views,
 Who weary drags his limbs along;
"Hey, bonnie Kate!" he cries, "what news!"
 Then carols blythe his morning song.

"Oh! wherefore, William, stay so long
 Upon the dark and stormy sea,
Where tempests howl, and dangers throng,
 So far from thy dear babes and me?

For dark and dismal was the night,
 And fearful was the billows" roar;
And many a sheeted ghost, and sprite,
 Shriek'd wildly on the sea-beat shore.

I listen'd fearful to the wind,
 And heard a groan in ev'ry blast;
Ten thousand fears disturb'd my mind,
 E'en when the raging storm was past."

"But we've successful been, dear Kate;
 Behold, my lass, that plenteous load!—
To day I mean to dine in state—
 On haddock, turbot, ling, and cod."

The hardy swain, with raptur'd eyes,
 Kisses in turn his babes, and Kate,
Then to his humble cottage hies,
 And blesses Heav'n with heart elate.

The scanty produce of the soil
 Smokes on his platter clean and neat;
And though his fare be coarse, yet toil
 Hath made the well-earn'd morsel sweet.

Then on his straw bed careless thrown,
 He sinks into the arms of sleep;
Leaves it to paltry wealth to groan,
 And pamper'd luxury to weep.