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DOROTHY.

 

DOROTHY.

By Emity A. BRADDOCK,

 

H! it was a sight fearsome, fit to curdle the blood of the stoutest —
That little craft caught in the teeth of the hungry, mad-foaming breakers
That craunched it, and tore it, and broke it, now on the jagged rocks flinging,
Then. catching it back, as tigers sport’ with their prey then devour it;
And the six men up in the rigging, clinging, and praying, and uadaennes
As one would shudder that looked down into his own grave open !
All the fisher-folk were away, six leagues away, to the northward,
Where the night before they had sailed, fast locked by the south gale in harbor ;
Only on the sands there were three old men, peering and moaning :
“Ah! if we were young as we once were, who knows but that we might save them?”
And the women were wringing their hands, with quavering, shrill cries, pitiful.
Among them, poised on her bare feet, like a bird pluming for flying
Over the foam, her brown hair out on the wind streaming and tossing,
Her cheeks flushing and paling, but her eyes clear, stood lass Dorothy.
Straight, strong-limbed and sunbrowned was she, modest, withal, and winsome,
“ Will the vessel break up in an hour? If I thowt so lang she would hing there,
I'd awa’ for the lifeboat,” cried she. “ Nay, nay, lass,” answered old Donald,
“Could you gang the four miles, you could na cross the burn swollen to bursting.”
“TPIl awa’,” spake Dorothy, nothing more; and swiftly she darted