Ballad of Pentyre Town: (Cornish)

FOAM flies white over rocks of black,
Nights are dark when the boats go down,
But souls flit back in the wild wind’s track,
And gray gulls gather in Pentyre Town.

Wild, gray gulls in the narrow street,
Wheeling, wavering, to and fro,
(Dear the echo of banished feet!)
Flocking in as the sun sinks low.

Pale she stands at her open door,
(Dark little streets to a fishing town ;)
Shrill, thin voices from sea and shore
Fill the air as the sun goes down.

“ Out and alas for my woe! ” saith she,
(See how the gray gulls whirl and throng!)
“ Love ! Come back from the weary sea ! ”
(Sore is sorrow and hours are long.)

One comes sailing with outstretched beak,
White throat lifted in wailing cry,
Stoops his wing to a woman’s cheek,
Swift and light, as he wavers by.

Foam flies white over rocks of black,
Nights are dark when the boats go down,
But souls flit back in the wild wind’s track,
And gray gulls gather in Pentyre Town.

Still she stands at her open door,
(Flickering sun rays faint and far,)
“Woe is heavy and doubt is sore,”
(Sobbing waves on the dull Doom Bar.)

“ Sleep flees far from mine eyes,” saith she,
(Skies are wild with the rough wind’s breath,)
“ All for my love’s voice calling me,”
(Robbed Love clings at the knees of Death.)

Now she strays on the wind-swept strand,
“ Fair our wandering days shall be ! ”
Sets her foot on the wan, wet sand,
(Faint feet falter, but wings flash free.)

“ Love, I come to your call at last. ”
(Black boats lean on the low seashore.)
“ Fear and doubting are overpast,”
(Set the tiller, and grasp the oar !)

No boat stirs on the sea’s dark breast,
(Long clouds writhe on a pallid sky,)
Storm-winds wail to the lurid west,
Sad and shrill as a seabird’s cry.

Foam flies white over rocks of black,
Daylight dies, and a boat goes down ;
But souls flit back in the wild wind’s track.
And gray gulls gather in Pentyre Town.

Graham R. Tomson.