A Sea-Ghost

Oh, fisher-fleet, go in from the sea
And furl your wings.
The bay is gray with the twilit spray
And the loud surf springs.

The chill buoy-bell is rung by the hands
Of all the drowned,
Who know the woe of the wind and tow
Of the tides around.

Go in, go in! O haste from the sea,
And let them rest--
A son and one who was wed and one
Who went down unblest.

Aye, even as I whose hands at the bell
Now labour most.
The tomb has gloom, but O the doom
Of the drear sea-ghost!

He evermore must wander the ooze
Beneath the wave,
Forlorn--to warn of the tempest born,
And to save--to save!

Then go, go in! and leave us the sea,
For only so
Can peace release us and give us ease
Of our salty woe.