"and we did all we could, but at last he died; only one of many. There were five buried that day. But it broke my heart to see the mother looking out upon the water. "It's his father I think of," said she; "he 's longing to see poor Jamesy." Connor groaned. "Keep up if you can, my man," said the captain; "I wish any one else had it to tell rather than I. That night Nora was taken ill, also, very suddenly; she grew worse fast. In the morning she called me to her. 'Tell Connor I died thinking of him,' she said, ' and tell him to meet me.' And my man, God help you, she never said anything more - in an hour she was gone." Connor had risen. He stood up, trying to steady himself; looking at the captain with his eyes dry as two stones. Then he turned to his friends: "I've got my death, boys," he said, and then dropped to the deck like a log. They raised him and bore him away. In an hour he was at home on the little bed which had been made ready for Nora, weary with her long voyage. There at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr. Bawne bent over him; he had been summoned by the news, and the room was full of Connor's fellow workmen. “Better, Connor?" asked the old man. "A dale," said Connor. "It's aisy now; I'll be with her soon. And look ye, masther, I've learnt one thing-God is good; He would n't let me bring Nora over to me, but he's takin' me over to her and Jamesy over the river; do n't you see it, and her standin' on the other side to welcome me?” And with these words Connor stretched out his arms. Perhaps he did see Nora - Heaven only knows- and so died. -Anonymous. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter O well for the fisherman's boy, That he sings in his boat on the bay! To their haven under the hill;' Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead -Lord Tennyson. THE EMPTY NEST A home in a quiet country place, Under the shadow of branches wide; And a fair young mother with thoughtful face, The sunshine stretches across the floor, And in and out, at the open door, The children run in their busy play. Guiding her needle with careless skill, Her fingers fashion the garment white; But weaving a fabric daintier still, Her swift thoughts follow the needle's flight. Her heart lies hushed in her deep content, "We found it under the apple-tree,- And lined with down from the mother's breast. "This is a leaf, all withered and dry, That once was a canopy overhead; Does n't it almost make you cry To look at the dear little empty bed? "All the birdies have flown away; But birds must fly or they would n't have wings; And the mother knew they would go some day, When she used to cuddle the downy things. "Do you think she is lonesome? Why, there's a tear! And here is another - that makes two. Why do you hug us, and look so queer? Deep in the mother's listening heart Drops the prattle with sudden sting; For lips may quiver, and tears may start, But birds must fly or they would n't have wings. -Emily Huntington Miller. THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL Have you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Babie Bell Into this world of ours? The gates of heaven were left ajar; She saw this planet, like a star, Hung in the glistening depths of even, Its bridges running to and fro, O'er which the white-winged angels go, She touched a bridge of flowers,- those feet, Of the celestial asphodels! They fell like dew upon the flowers, Then all the air grew strangely sweet And thus came dainty Babie Bell She came and brought delicious May; And o'er the porch the trembling vine Came to this world of ours! O Babie, dainty Babie Bell, Ah, never in our hearts before We felt we had a link between The land beyond the morn. And for the love of those dear eyes, We said, Dear Christ- our hearts bent down, And now the orchards which were white And red with blossoms when she came, Were rich in autumn's mellow prime. The grapes hung purpling in the grange; Her lissome form more perfect grew, And in her features we could trace, It came upon us by degrees: The knowledge that our God had sent We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, We cried aloud in our belief: Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell! |