WHEN THE FISHING BOATS GO OUT

WHEN the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,

And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,

And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.

There’s joyance and there’s freedom when the fishing boats go out.

The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted

caves, And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin

waves, While routed dawn-mists shiver—oh, far and fast they

flee, Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea!

Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie,

Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky—

Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled

afar As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the har-

bor bar.