SANDY HARG.
The night-star shines clearly,
The tide’s in the bay,
My boat, like the sea-mew,
Takes wing and away.
Though the pellock rolls free
Through the moon-lighted brine,
The silver-finn’d salmon
And herling are mine—
My fair one shall taste them,
May Morley of Larg,
I’ve said and I’ve sworn it,
Quoth young Sandy Harg.
He spread his broad net
Where, ’tis said, in the brine,
The mermaidens sport
Mid the merry moonshine:
He drew it and laugh’d,
For he found ’mongst the meshes
A fish and a maiden,
With silken eyelashes—
And she sang with a voice
Like May Morley’s of Larg,
“A maid and a salmon
For young Sandy Harg!”
Oh, white were her arms,
And far whiter her neck—
Her long locks in armfuls
Overflow’d all the deck:
One hand on the rudder
She pleasantly laid,
Another on Sandy,
And merrily said—
“Thy halve-net has wrought thee
A gallant day’s darg—
Thou’rt monarch of Solway,
My young Sandy Harg.”
Oh, loud laugh’d young Sandy,
And swore by the mass,
“I’ll never reign king,
But mid gowans and grass:”
Oh, loud laugh’d young Sandy,
And swore, “By thy hand,
My May Morley, I’m thine,
Both by water and land!
’Twere marvel if mer-woman,
Slimy and slarg,
Could rival the true love
Of young Sandy Harg.”
She knotted one ringlet.
Syne knotted she twain,
And sang—lo! thick darkness
Dropp’d down on the main—
She knotted three ringlets,
Syne knotted she nine,
A tempest stoop’d sudden
And sharp on the brine,
And away flew the boat—
There’s a damsel in Larg
Will wonder what’s come of thee
Young Sandy Harg.
“The sky’s spitting fire,”
Cried Sandy—“and see!
Green Criffel reels round,
And will choke up the sea;
From their bottles of tempest
The fiends draw the corks,
Wide Solway is barmy,
Like ale when it works;
There sits Satan’s daughter,
Who works this dread darg,
To mar my blythe bridal”
Quoth young Sandy Harg.
From his bosom a spell
To work wonders he took,
Thrice kiss’d it and smiled,
Then triumphantly shook
The boat by the rudder,
The maid by the hair,
With wailings and shrieks
She bewilder’d the air;
He flung her far seaward,
Then sailed off to Larg—
There was mirth at the bridal
Of young Sandy Harg.
New Monthly Magazine.