With stout storm-jacket o’er their shoulders
Their food sealed safe against the waves in hand,
Bravely they turned toward the barren strand,
Forgetful of the misadventures past;
Down to the shore the children hurried fast.
Knee-deep, the sturdy three on breakers stand,
Push at the boat—she quivers—leaves the sand,
And soon the brown sail bellies from the mast.
The sun dropped down; far off, the fishers knew
The smother on the darkening cliff to be
The breath of fires that warmed the household meal;
And all night long, that cloud was clear in view,
Though every boat had dropped behind the sea,
And herring-moonlight flashed about each keel.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 154)