High Tide on The Coast of Lincolnshire
by Jean Ingelow
(this is just a few extracts)
Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!
Ply all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe, ‘The Brides of Enderby.’
“The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe,
The rising tide comes on apace,
And boats adrift in yonder towne
Go sailing uppe the marketplace.”
So farre, so fast the eygre drave,
The heart had hardly time to beat
Before a shallow seething wave
Sobb’d in the grasses at oure feet:
The feet had hardly time to flee
Before it brake against the knee,
And all the world was in the sea.
That flow strew’d wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea;
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!
To manye more than myne and mee;
But each will mourn his own (she saith);
And sweeter woman ne’er drew breath
Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth.
I shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis shore,
“Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!” calling,
A lot of people have died over the centuries on the east coast when we get a surge tide, but hopefully modern flood protection will avert disaster.