The skipper he threw himsel' frae the win',
An' he brayt the helm alee.
"Put to yer han', my lady fair!
Haud up her heid," quo' he;
"Gin she dinna face the win' a wee mair,
It s faurweel to you an' me!"
To the tiller the lady she laid her han,
An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast;
They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped,
An' they luikit at ither aghast.