Henrik Ibsen

“ But the yawl pushed off, and there flashed out then
Cutlass and musket-shot.
They fished him up and aboard the craft,
The sailors gave three cheers;
The commander stood on the poop abaft,
A boy of eighteen years.
Terry's boat was the first prize e'er he made,
So he struts with a proud stiff neck:
But Terry's mind was now dismayed,
The strong man lay and wept and prayed
On his knees on the vessel's deck.
He bought with tears and they sold him smiles,
They paid him scorn for prayer:
An east wind rose, and from out the isles
Seaward the victors fare. ”

“ There Terry Wigan's skiff shot through
Over the foam and sands:
But in his wake behind him flew
The yawl and fifteen hands.
It was then that he cried through the breakers' roar
To God in his bitter dread: —
"On yonder famine-stricken shore
Sits my starving wife at my cottage door,
And waits with her child for bread."
But the fifteen shouted louder then,
'Twas the same as at Lyngor —
The luck is ever with Englishmen
When they plunder Norway's shore.
When Terry touched on the sunk reef's top,
The yawl too scraped the cliff:
From the stern the officer sang out, "Stop!" ”

“ Came aft, as pale as a ghost:
"I'll make you rich as you now are poor,
If you bear us safe from the waves and sure!"
But the pilot left his post.
He paled at the mouth, and a smile he found
Like a smile of power long sought.
Over they bore, and high aground
Stood the Englishman's splendid yacht.
"Take to the boats! In the breakers wild
The yacht will splintered be. ”