THE LAY OF LAWRENCE MOOR!
A True Story.
Four brave men set sail from Whalsey,
In their open fishing-smack,
Four strong fellows left the Shetlands,
Only one at last came back.
Hearken how the wind is howling,
Close the curtains; shut the door,
Whilst I tell the splendid story
Of a sailor—Lawrence Moor!
Never yet has such a tempest,
Screamed around the Shetland homes,
Dealing death and devastation
Where the northern sailor roams.
Snow and hail in blinding fury,
Swept o'er forest, field and lea,
Deaf seemed Heaven to the praying
For the brave men out at sea!
Far at sea! four plucky fellows
Bending back and straining oar,
Hidden each from each in tempest,
That had blotted out the shore!
All at once the skipper steering,
Cheering, shouting—look ahead!
Heard a moan, his best companion
Fell in arms of duty—dead!
"For the love of home and Heaven,
Brave it out as I will do."
Shouts above the storm, the skipper,
Rallying his fainting crew,
"Let us pray, lads, all together,
Heaven may save us! Who can tell!"
But the prayer was scarcely uttered,
When another sailor fell!
Two brave men—were left in silence—
Whispering with shortened breath,
"Don't desert your pal," says Lawrence,
"Let us have it out with Death!
God has strength to still the waters,
We have pluck to keep afloat."
But the last man with a murmur,
Fell exhausted in the boat.
"Andrew! Laddie!"—Death don't answer.
"Tom, old pal!" the faintest sigh,
"Left me all alone then, have ye?
Well I don't intend to die!"
Then he thought of home and children,
Back came mirrored waves of sin!
One lone man midst dead and dying,
Felt the water rushing in!
One hand on the oar to steer her,
One hand free to hoist the sail,
When he called—no mate to answer,
Sinking now—no boy to bail;
Toiling hour on hour exhausted,
Captain of a ghastly bier!
Till at last the tempest lifted,
And he sighted Lerwick Pier.
Home at last! the plucky sailor,
Home to children and to wife,
Home half dead to claim the honour,
That he'd saved one brother's life,
Death defied! they found him kneeling,
Humbly on his cottage floor,
But they'll pass to time the story,
Of that Sailor—Lawrence Moor!
In the Nick of Time.—His Excellency, the Chinese Minister, Lew Chui Fun, has left London for Paris, to present his credentials to President Carnot. At this festive season of Merry Christmas, Frenchmen of all parties in politics will welcome such an Opportunist as Fun.
Shortly to be published, The Life of Sims Reeves, compiled from his own notes.