Classic Poem

Twas a Friday in August, the last of the month,
With a sunset so pretty as ever could be,
And a breeze just enough for to fill out the sails —
Can 'ee hear the raven a-croak in the tree?

My man and my son had a craft of their own —
The Beauty they called her, so proud of the name,
She was called after mother, so both of them said —
The wind is gone west and the sky is a flame!

My son he was wed, and he brought home his bride;
For father and me loved the maid as our own:
So sweet as her looks and so clever as good —
There's the cry of the gulls and the sea is a moan!

I had dreamed for three nights of a terrible storm,
And thought I stood out in the teeth of the gale,
And I woke with my watching in vain for the craft —
Can 'ee hear the waves break with a sob and a wail?

We went to the door for to look at the stars,
As she and me did before going up to bed;
They was all of a tremble as if in a fright —
That's a rocket they've fired 'pon Black Rock head!

Then all of a sudden came the burst of the storm;
Like thunder there broke the roar of the swell;
And the wind seemed to shake the house and the ground —
Can 'ee hear it, my dear — the toll of the bell?

I sat down on the chair, and she lay on the floor,
And she sobbed as she laid her head on my knee;
We waited and prayed — but 'twas waiting in vain —
There's the boom of a gun from a ship out at sea!

The fire was dead and the candle burnt out;
Day broke with a sea and a sky thaTwas grey;
But for us two the sun has not risen since then —
A wreck on the point, did the fisherman say?