He went up like a block With the shock; And when he was there, In the air, Kissed his hand To the land. When he dropped My heart stopped, For the first log had caught him And crushed him; When he rose in his place There was blood on his face.
There were some girls, Baptiste, Picking berries on the hillside, Where the river curls, Baptiste, You know,—on the still side. One was down by the water, She saw Isaàc Fall back.
She did not scream, Baptiste, She launched her canoe; It did seem, Baptiste, That she wanted to die too, For before you could think The birch cracked like a shell In the rush of hell, And I saw them both sink—
Baptiste! He had two girls, One is Virginie; What God calls the other Is not known to me.
THE SANDS O' DEE.
"O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee!" The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she.
"O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,— A tress o' golden hair, O' drownèd maiden's hair,— Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee."
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,— The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam,— To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands o' Dee.