"Put to yer hand, my lady fair!

Put to yer hand," quoth he;

"Gin she dinna face the win' the mair,

It the waur for you and me."

For the skipper kenned that strength is strength,
Whether woman's or man's at last.

To the tiller the lady she laid her han',
And the ship laid her cheek to the blast.

For that slender body was full o' soul,
And the will is mair than shape;

As the skipper saw when they cleared the berg,
And he heard her quarter scrape.

Quo' the skipper: "Ye are a lady fair,
And a princess grand to see;

But ye are a woman, and a man wad sail
To hell in yer company.”

She liftit a pale and a queenly face;

Her een flashed, and syne they swam. "And what for no to heaven?" she says,

And she turned awa' frae him.

But she took na her han' frae the good ship's helm,

Until the day did daw' ;

And the skipper he spak', but what he said

It was said atween them twa.

And then the good ship, she lay to,
With the land far on the lee ;

And up came the king upo' the deck,
Wi' wan face and bluidshot ee.

THE EARL O'QUARTERDECK. 155

The skipper he louted to the king;

"Gae wa', gae wa'," said the king.

Said the king, like a prince, "I was a'wrang,

Put on this ruby ring."

And the wind blew lowne, and the stars came oot,

And the ship turned to the shore ;

And, afore the sun was up again,

They saw Scotland ance more.

That day the ship hung at the pierheid,
And the king he stept on the land.

66

Skipper, kneel down," the king he said.
“Hoo daur ye afore me stand?”

The skipper he louted on his knee,
The king his blade he drew :

Said the king, "How daured ye contre me?
I'm aboard my ain ship noo.

"I canna mak' ye a king," said he..
66 For the Lord alone can do that,
And beside ye took it intil yer ain han',
And crooned yersel' sae pat!

"But wi' what ye will I redeem my ring;
For ance I am at your beck.

And first, as ye loutit skipper o' Doon,
Rise up Yerl o' Quarterdeck."

The skipper he rose and looked at the king
In his een for all his croon;

Said the skipper, "Here is yer grace's ring,
And yer daughter is my boon."

The reid blude sprang into the king's face,—

A wrathful man to see:

"The rascal loon abuses our grace;

Gae hang him upon yon tree."

But the skipper he sprang aboard his ship,
And he drew his biting blade;

And he struck the chain that held her fast,
But the iron was ower weel made.

And the king he blew a whistle loud;
And tramp, tramp, down the pier,
Cam' twenty riders on twenty steeds,
Clankin' wi' spur and spear.

"He saved your life!" cried the lady fair; "His life ye daurna spill!"

"Will ye come atween me and my hate?" Quo' the lady, "And that I will.”

And on cam' the knights wi' spur and spear, For they heard the iron ring.

"Gin ye care na for yer father's grace? Mind ye that I am the king?"

"I kneel to my father for his grace,

Right lowly on my knee;

But I stand and look the king in the face,
For the skipper is king o' me."

She turned and she sprang upo' the deck,
And the cable splashed in the sea.
The good ship spread her wings sae white,
And away with the skipper goes she.

HANNAH BINDING SHOES.

Now was not this a king's daughter?

And a brave lady beside?

And a woman with whom a man might sail

Into high heaven wi' pride?

157

George MacDonald.

HANNAH BINDING SHOES.

DOOR lone Hannah

POOR

Sitting at the window binding shoes,

Faded, wrinkled,

Sitting, stitching in a mournful muse.

Bright-eyed beauty once was she,
When the bloom was on the tree.
Spring and winter

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Not a neighbor

Passing nod or answer will refuse
To her whisper :

"Is there from the fishers any news?"
Oh, her heart's adrift with one
On an endless voyage gone!

Night and morning

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Fair young Hannah

Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly wooes;
Hale and clever,

For a willing heart and hand he sues.

May-day skies are all aglow,

And the waves are laughing so!

For her wedding

Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.

May is passing,

'Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes.
Hannah shudders,

For the wild sou' wester mischief brews.
Round the rocks of Marblehead,
Outward bound, a schooner sped.
Silent, lonesome,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

'Tis November,

Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews.
From Newfoundland

Not a sail returning will she lose ;

Whispering hoarsely, "Fishermen,
Have you, have you heard of Ben?"
Old with watching,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Twenty winters

Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views. Twenty seasons :—

Never one has brought her any news.

Still her dim eyes silently

Chase the white sails o'er the sea.

Hopeless, faithful,

Hannah's at the window binding shoes.

Lucy Larcom.