Song. Poem by Fidelia S T Hill

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Fitz Eustace. —
'The seagull flutters to her nest
The fishermen are gone to rest,
A sheltering roof will make them blest
While I with toil am spent and worn;
Then ope your hospitable door;
I'll rest me thankful on your floor,
Sweet blessings still for you implore,
And hail the approach of morn.
The night is dark, and dreary love;
I shiver with the cold;
O! I am wet and weary love
Sharp hunger makes me bold,
Then grant me shelter for the night
I'll leave you at the dawn of light.'
Annabel. —
'Who warbling sweet at this lone hour
Hath burst the bonds of sleep's soft power,
Ah! seest thou not the tempest lour?
Hie quickly hence away.
Fitz Eustace. —
'Lady a hapless youth is he
The sport of gales, and misery
Who rests his only hope on thee,
Grant a night shelter pray.'
Annabel. —
'Poor fisherman I have no power,
My Mother hates the stranger's sight;
To shield thee in thine evil hour,
Or give thee shelter for the night,
Yet follow, softly follow me;
She can't unmoved such misery see.'