For the shout of battle came on the wind, And the heavy smoke hung round each ship, And he had guided the helm, when fate And the wind swept away the wreath of foam, But this most sweet and lighted calm, Is there some nameless boding sent, Like a noiseless voice from the tomb ?- He thought of his home, of his own fair land, He sought his cabin, and joined his band- He joined in their laugh, he joined in the song, Peaceful they sought their quiet sleep, But, like life, the sea was false, and hid At midnight there came a sudden shock, There was no dark cloud on the morning sky, The sun shone over the proud ship's track, THE LITTLE SHROUD. SHE put him on a snow-white shroud, 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 One midnight, while her constant tears She heard a voice, and lo! her child 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 One eve a light shone round her bed, "Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry, And down within the silent grave 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, Scarce moved the sleeping wind. The sailors sang their gentle songs, But as they sung, each voice turned low, For quiet was the waveless sea, But the clear air was cold as clear; 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, Yet none could touch the other's hand, Like statues fixed, that gallant band The sleet was their shroud, the wind their dirge, Fond eyes have watched by their native shore, Hope grew fear, and fear grew hope, And the bride lay down in her grave alone, Years passed, and of that goodly ship 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 He said it was fearful to see them stand, And the light glared strange in the glassy eyes |