Upon the roofe we sate that night; The noise of bells went sweeping by; I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church-tower, red and high,-- A lurid mark, and dread to see; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang _Enderby_.
They rang the sailor lads to guide, From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I,--my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O, come in life, or come in death! O lost! my love, Elizabeth!"
And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare? The waters laid thee at his doore Ere yet the early dawn was clear: Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.
That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea,-- fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and mee; But each will mourne his own (she sayth) And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.
I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, "Cusha! Cusha!" all along, Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth, From the meads where melick groweth, Where the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town.
I shall never see her more, Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river,-- Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, To the sandy, lonesome shore; I shall never hear her calling, "Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow! Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot! Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow! Come uppe, Lightfoot! rise and follow; Lightfoot! Whitefoot! From your clovers lift the head; Come uppe, Jetty! follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking-shed!"
Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea-- And Willy's voice in the wind, "O mother, come out to me." Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go? For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow.
We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town. The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain.