Ah, well for him that on the strand
Had Mother Becker waited long!
And well for him her grasping hand
And grappling arm were strong!
And well for him that wind and sun,
And daily toil for scanty gains,
Had made such daring blood to run
Within such generous veins!
For what to do but plunge and swim?
Out on the sinking billow cast,
She toil'd, she dived, she groped for him,
She found and clutch'd him fast.
She climb'd the reef, she brought him up,
She laid him gasping on the sands;
Built high the fire and fill'd the cup,—
Stood up and waved her hands!
Oh, life is dear! The mate leap'd in.
"I know," the captain said, "right well,
Not twice can any woman win
A soul from yonder hell.
"I'll start and meet him in the wave."
"Keep back!" she bade: "what strength have you?
And I shall have you both to save,—
Must work to pull you through!"
But out he went. Up shallow sweeps
Raced the long white-caps, comb on comb:
The wind, the wind that lash'd the deeps,
Far, far it blew the foam.
The frozen foam went scudding by,—
Before the wind, a seething throng,
The waves, the waves came towering high,
They flung the mate along.
The waves came towering high and white.
They burst in clouds of flying spray:
There mate and captain sank from sight,
And, clinching, roll'd away.
Oh, Mother Becker, seas are dread,
Their treacherous paths are deep and blind!
But widows twain shall mourn their dead
If thou art slow to find.