"Ay, ay, we came back past that point,
But then a. breeze up-sprung;
Dick shouted, 'Hoy! down sail!' and pulled
With all his might among
The white sea-horses that upreared
So terrible and strong.
"I pulled too: I was blind with fear;
But I could hear Dick's breath
Coming and going, as he told
Dolly to creep beneath
His jacket, and not hold him so:
We rowed for life or death.
"We almost reached the sheltered bay,
We could see father stand
Upon the little jetty here,
His sickle in his hand;
The houses white, the yellow fields,
The safe and pleasant land.
"And Dick, though pale as any ghost,
Had only said to me,
'We're all right now, old lad!' when up
A wave rolled—drenched us three—
One lurch, and then I felt the chill
And roar of blinding sea.
"I don't remember much but that:
You see I'm safe and sound;
I have been wrecked four times since then—
Seen queer sights, I'll be bound.
I think folks sleep beneath the deep
As calm as underground."
"But Dick and Dolly?" "Well, Poor Dick!
I saw him rise and cling
Unto the gunwale of the boat—
Floating keel up—and sing
Out loud, 'Where's Doll?'—I hear him yet
As clear as anything.
"'Where's Dolly?' I no answer made;
For she dropped like a stone
Down through the deep sea; and it closed:
The little thing was gone!
'Where's Doll?' three times; then Dick loosed hold,
And left me there alone.
* * * * *
"It's five-and-forty year since then,"
Muttered the boatman grey,
And drew his rough hand o'er his eyes,
And stared across the bay;
"Just five-and-forty year," and not
Another word did say.
"But Dolly?" ask the children all,
As they about him stand.
"Poor Doll! she floated back next tide
With sea-weed in her hand.
She's buried o'er that hill you see,
In a churchyard on land.