Ban and Arriere Ban: A Rally of Fugitive Rhymes. Lang Andrew

      Between two shores of death we drift,

         Behind are things forgot,

      Before, the tide is racing swift

         To shores man knoweth not.

      Above, the sky is far and cold,

         Below, the moaning sea

      Sweeps o’er the loves that were of old,

         But thou, Love, love thou me.

      Ah, lonely are the ocean ways,

         And dangerous the deep,

      And frail the fairy barque that strays

         Above the seas asleep.

      Ah, toil no more with helm or oar,

         We drift, or bond or free,

      On yon far shore the breakers roar,

         But thou, Love, love thou me!