While The Billy BoilsSearchI prayed for the wind of the South,As I swung his cradle slow,And my heart was aye in my mouth,Lest the life of my babe should goOn the feverish panting breathOf the sullen November noon,Out where the ships o’ DeathSail ’neath a wan white moon.
A bittern boomed in the dusk,And the winds of the night were wild;And, pent in its earthly husk,The soul of my restless childBeat ’gainst the bonds of breath;O God! must it journey soonWith the crews of the ships o’ Death,That steer by a wan white moon?
Night paled to the dawn’s eclipse,And the moon hung low in the sky;Still I watched with my heart on my lipsLest the child that I loved should die,Should pass with the dawn’s first breathO’er the bar where the ebb-tides croon,And the lights of the ships o’ deathWane dim ’neath a wan white moon.