For the shout of battle came on the wind,
And the cannon roared aloud;

And the heavy smoke hung round each ship,
Even like its death-shroud.

And he had guided the helm, when fate
Seemed stepping every wave,

And the wind swept away the wreath of foam,
To show a yawning grave.

But this most sweet and lighted calm,
Its blue and midnight hour,
Wakened the hidden springs of his heart
With a deep and secret power.

Is there some nameless boding sent,

Like a noiseless voice from the tomb ?—
A spirit note from the other world,
To warn of death and doom!

He thought of his home, of his own fair land,
And the warm tear rushed to his eye;
Almost with fear he looked around,
But no cloud was on the sky.

He sought his cabin, and joined his band-
The wine-cup was passing round;

He joined in their laugh, he joined in the song,
But no mirth was in the sound.

Peaceful they sought their quiet sleep,
In the soft and lovely night;
But, like life, the sea was false, and hid
The cold dark rock from sight.

At midnight there came a sudden shock,
And the sleepers sprang from bed;
There was one fierce cry of last despair—
The waves closed over head.

There was no dark cloud on the morning sky,
No fierce wind on the morning air;

The sun shone over the proud ship's track,
But no proud ship was there!

THE LITTLE SHROUD.

SHE put him on a snow-white shroud,
A chaplet on his head;
And gathered early primroses

To scatter o'er the dead.

She laid him in his little grave— 'Twas hard to lay him there,

When spring was putting forth its flowers, And everything was fair.

She had lost many children-now
The last of them was gone;
And day and night she sat and wept

Beside the funeral stone.

One midnight, while her constant tears
Were falling with the dew

She heard a voice, and lo! her child
Stood by her weeping too!

His shroud was damp, his face was white, He said, "I cannot sleep,

Your tears have made my shroud so wet, O, mother, do not weep!"

O, love is strong!-the mother's heart
Was filled with tender fears;
O, love is strong! and for her child
Her grief restrained its tears.

One eve a light shone round her bed,
And there she saw him stand-
Her infant in his little shroud,
A taper in his hand.

"Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,

And I can sleep once more! And beautiful the parting smile The little infant wore.

And down within the silent grave

He laid his weary head;

And soon the early violets

Grew o'er his grassy bed.

The mother went her household ways

Again she knelt in prayer,

And only asked of Heaven its aid

Her heavy lot to bear.

THE FROZEN SHIP.

THE fair ship cut the billows,
And her path lay white behind,
And dreamily amid her sails
Scarce moved the sleeping wind.

The sailors sang their gentle songs,
Whose words were home and love;
Waveless the wide sea spread beneath
And calm the heaven above.

But as they sung, each voice turned low,
Albeit they knew not why;

For quiet was the waveless sea,

And cloudless was the sky.

But the clear air was cold as clear

'Twas pain to draw the breath;

;

And the silence and the chill around
Were e'en like those of death.

1

Colder and colder grew the air,

Spell-bound seemed the wave to be,

And ere night fell, they knew they were locked

In the arms of that icy sea.

Stiff lay the sail, chain-like the ropes,

And snow passed o'er the main ;

Each thought, but none spoke, of distant home They never should see again.

Each looked upon his comrade's face,

Pale as funereal stone;

Yet none could touch the other's hand,
For none could feel his own.

Like statues fixed, that gallant band
Stood on the dread deck to die;

The sleet was their shroud, the wind their dirge,
And their churchyard the sea and the sky.

Fond eyes have watched by their native shore,
And prayers to the wild winds gave;
But never again came that stately ship
To breast the English wave.

Hope grew fear, and fear grew hope,
Till both alike were done:

And the bride lay down in her grave alone,
And the mother without her son.

Years passed, and of that goodly ship
Nothing of tidings came;

Till, in after-time, when her fate had grown
But a tale of fear and a name-

It was beneath a tropic sky

The tale was told to me;

The sailor who told, in his youth had been
Over that icy sea.

He said it was fearful to see them stand,
Nor the living, nor yet the dead,

And the light glared strange in the glassy eyes
Whose human look was fled.