POETRY.
With thunder up the shore. All fitfully the West wind sighed In answer to the curlew's call; The sullen fires of sunset died, And darkness shrouded all.
Once through the mist a spectral moon Sped onward through her cloudy bars; And all the heaving sea was strewn With phosphorescent stars.
Then from the West a mighty gale Came roaring over bar and bay ; And morning, breaking wan and pale, Brought in a fateful day.
Fast on the shore and lost in foam, Deep' buried by each mountain wave, A hapless vessel, seeking home, • Had found a living grave.
She saw it—Kathleen of Killoo- That lurid signal blazing wild: No help was near, what could she do, A widow's only child ?
First to the beacon straight she ran, And fired an answering signal-flare : " 0 God, do save them, for You can," She cried in childish prayer: Then to the village, while the blast Drove home the vessel on the sand; The crew close clinging to the mast, A stone's throw from the land.
They saw the beacon—launched a rope Lashed to a broken cabin-door; With straining eyes and struggling hope They watched it reach the shore.
And as they watched, all drenched and stiff, A band of stalwart helpers came, Made fast the rope beneath the cliff, And won themselves a name.
Safe o'er that trembling bridge they brought The shipwrecked seamen, one by one : A work of rescue nobly wrought, A worthy deed well done.
But worthier hers, and yet more fair, Whose name was Kathleen of Killoo ; For she it was that prayed the prayer And saved the shipwrecked crew. H. J. S.
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