The Orkney Boatman's Song.

By J. W. Dunbar Moodie.

he foaming sea is dear to me,
It bears me on to thee, love! [fly,
And what care I though the spume drift
It speeds me on to thee, love! [view
The heart that's true, ne'er dreads the
Of stormy clouds or sea, love!
The curling wave may scare the slave,
It ne'er will scare the free, love!

The wintry blast may bend the mast,
The sheet I'll ne'er let fly, love!
Till the water o'er the gunwale pour,
While the squall blows low and high, love!
The waves may roar on the rocky shore,
And the sea-birds sadly wail, love!
O'er the watery grave of the storm-tossed brave
That sink 'mid the angry gale, love!

The tumbling tide, and the ocean wide,
Are blithesome sights to see, love!
The grey gull's cry in the gathering sky,
Is music sweet to me, love!
Now, sunbeams smile on the dusky isle,
And the cot that shelters thee, love!
Through the dashing spray I'll cleave my
And hasten home to thee, love! [way,

From the beetling cliff our dancing skiff
With throbbing heart thou' lt see, love!
But your blushing cheek will gladness speak
When fondly pressed by me, love!
With tale and song we'll drive along
The merry hours with thee, love!
And the morning beams will chase sweet dreams
Of her that's dear to me love!