Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/51

49 With steady sweep of heavy oars,
 * From Dalby strand they make their way,

Before the lingering light has left
 * The crags of Cronk-ny-Iree Lhaa.

Sometimes the night is loud with storm,
 * Sometimes the creeping fog comes round,

And sometimes all the moonlit hours
 * Are holy with a peace profound.

Sometimes between the dusk and dark The fishers see a glancing spark,
 * A tiny riding-light;
 * Now here–now there–
 * And now a pair,
 * And now a score,
 * And everywhere
 * Around them dancing bright.

And straightway all about them ride The fairy nickeys on the tide;
 * And all the air is full of din,
 * And elfish voices, shrewd and thin,
 * And creak of spar,
 * And smell of tar,
 * And water washing up the side;