Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/223

 And every labouring wave That doth their small feet lave, Gives them a ghastly lover To wring their white hands over, And tear their spray-wet hair In the madness of despair;— Oh then, oh then, oh then, We hurry home amain; For their heart-piercing cries, Shame our wild revelries!