Explore "Songs of The Glens of Antrim" by Moira O´Neill on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The wrack was dark an' shiny where it floated in the sea, / There was no one in the brown boat but only him an' me; / Him to cut the sea wrack, me to mind the boat, / An' not a word between us the hours we were afloat. / The wet wrack, / The sea wrack, / The wrack was strong to cut.
We laid it on the grey rocks to wither in the sun, / An' what should call my lad then, to sail from Cushendun? / With a low moon, a full tide, a swell upon the deep, / Him to sail the old boat, me to fall asleep. / The dry wrack, / The sea wrack, / The wrack was dead so soon.