The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1915-08-26
Familiar Songs
and Their Authors.
The Three Fishers.

!
Charles Kingsley, distinguished Eng
fish preacher, novelist and poet, wa
born in Devonshire, June IL, 1919. H,
resigned the professorshlp of history il
Cambridge University to became canor
of Westminster and chaplain to The
queen. He made tour OF the United
States in 1904 and was graciously re.
ceived everywhere. His death took place
January %, 1875. When he was boy
his father was rector of the parish OF
Clovelly, from whence fishing fleets put
out to sea. 1t was the fathers custom
to hold short religious service on the
shore before the sailing, IN which the
fishermen and their families took part.
Years after, the son wrote song in re-
membrance of these scenes. He called
it '"The Three Fishers" 1t was set to
music by John Hullah, an English must
cal writer OF much note. The words of
the cong are as follows:
Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him
best,
And the children stood watching them out
of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun
went down;
They looked at the squat. and they looked at
the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged
and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep.
And the harbor bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands.
In the morning CLEAN as the tide went down,
And the women were weeping and wringing
their hands
For those who will never come home to the
town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,
And goodbye to the bar and its moaning
Charles Hoyt, the dramatist, whose
plays furnished amusement for count
less thousands and whose own life end
ed sadly, wrote the following pretty lines
in tribute to Sadie McDonald-known to
many theatergoers-a member of one of
his companies, who died on an Australian
trip. 1t is said to be his last song:
When the scene is lighted brightly, and we
watch the players nightly.
The peasant, the prince and the page,
Lo, there comes an apparition, tits little
fair haired vision
In the middle of the crowded stage.
And across the footligEts stealing, to the
list'ning heart appealing,
Floats the echo of the song that we knew, |
II want you ma honey, yes l want you.
want, want you,
want you ma honey, yes l dor
Then she passes. Yonder, lovely, she has one
true comrade only,
Who comes to her with whisperings of hope.
opeeoing tast across the ocean with unfalter-
It's the wind from her own Pacific slope.
And it presses toward her pillow, printing
footsteps on the billow,
Lightly, like one who comes to WOO,
And 1t murmurs low above her, with the soft
sigh of lover,
II want you ma honey, yes dol"
All, the worktime, and the playtime! All. the
-, hot and garish daytime!
She rests undisturbed through it all.
While the sultry hours are creepinp. in ber
darkened room she's sleeping,
And she needs not the loudest call.
But when the lights are glist'ning, and the
silent stars are ist'ning
From their places in the steadfast blue
II we come, our sad hearts bringing. we may
1 want you ma honey, yes ! do'
And when the years have vanished and more
stately songs are banished.
Inns simple strain that time cannot kill
VIII recall the figure slender and the accents
clear and tender
And the tresses that are golden still
You will listen, little lady, and perhaps you'll
hear US, Sadie,
Slnglng-across the years-to you,
The song you taught so sweetly. ere Won nassed
from US completely,
want you my honey, yes dor