THE FISHERMEN.
HURRAH! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor! Run up the sail again! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed.
From the hill-top looks the steeple, And the lighthouse from the sand; And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us, For the homes we leave one sigh, Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky.
Now, brothers, for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador, Floating spectral in the moonshine, Along the low, black shore! Where like snow the gannet's feathers On Brador's rocks are shed,