Alas! too late the ship returned-too late her life to save; My father closed her dying eyes, and laid her in the grave. He was a man of ardent hopes, who never knew dismay; And, spite of grief, the winter-time wore cheerfully away. He had crossed the equinoctial line full seven times or more; And, sailing northward, had been wrecked on icy Labrador. He knew the Spice Isles, every one, where the clove and nutmeg grow, And the aloe towers, a stately tree, with clustering bells of snow. He had gone the length of Hindustan, down Ganges' holy flood; Through Persia, where the peacock broods, a wild bird of the wood; And, in the forests of the West, had seen the red deer chased, And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of the waste. Oh! pleasant were the tales he told of lands so strange and new; And in my ignorance I vowed I'd be a sailor too : My father heard my vow with joy; so in the early May Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the wind, With a briskly heaving sea before, and the landsman's cheer behind. There was joy for me in every league, delight on every strand, And I sat for days on the high foretop, on the long lookout for land. There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on the burning tropic seas, To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to the freshening breeze. Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship went free, Until we neared the rocky shoals within the Western Sea. Yet still none thought of danger near, till in the silent night The helmsman gave the dreadful word of "Breakers to the right!" The moment that his voice was heard, was felt the awful shock; The ship sprang forward with a bound, and struck upon a rock. : "All hands aloft !" our captain cried in terror and dismay They threw the cargo overboard, and cut the masts away: 'Twas all in vain, 'twas all in vain; the sea rushed o'er the deck, And, shattered with the beating surf, down went the parting wreck! The moment that the wreck went down my father seized me fast, And leaping 'mid the thundering waves, seized on the broken mast. I know not how he bore me up, my senses seemed to swim, A shuddering horror chilled my brain, and stiffened every limb. What next I knew, was how at morn, on a bleak, barren shore, Out of a hundred mariners, were living only four. I looked around, like one who wakes from dreams of fierce alarm, And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my father's arm. And with a rigid, dying grasp, he closely held me fast, Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight, on the mast. With humble hearts and streaming eyes down knelt the little band, Praying Him who had preserved their lives to lend His guiding hand. And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger came, His mercy through our misery preserved each drooping frame: And after months of weary woe, sickness, and travel sore, He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that shore. And now, without a home or friend, I wander far and near, And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear. Thus sitting by your happy hearth, beside your mother's knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea? MARY HOWITT. LITTLE MINNIE. ART thou weary, little Minnie? Well may the aged falter, Who tread life's rugged way, When even little Minnie Grows weary of her play. Tell thee a story, Minnie? Long since to thee were told. There's something I would say, That you may oft remember When I have passed away. Minnie! my sweetest thought for years, Is the memory of the mother Who taught me first to pray. Minnie! do you remember Your gentle mother too, Whose only grief in dying Was the thought of leaving you? Ah, child! I mind me of the time- Ah, Minnie! little Minnie! "Remember thy Creator!"— Ah, Minnie! closely hold His hand As through life's path you roam : Though rough and stormy be the way, "Twill safely lead you home. And when they lay me by her side, In the peaceful church-yard there, And you sometimes gaze with tearful eyes Upon this vacant chair, These words, perchance, your lonely heart Think, darling, we who loved you here Good-night, my little Minnie! Good-night, my precious Minnie !— A NON. THE SOUND OF THE SEA. THOU art sounding on, thou mighty Sea, The ancient rocks yet ring to thee, Oh! many a glorious voice is gone But thou art swelling on, thou Deep, Thou liftest up thy solemn voice It fills the noontide's calm profound, Let there be silence, deep and strange, Where crowning cities rose! Thou speak'st of One that doth not change So may our hearts repose. HEMANS. |