And they with winning beckonings—

Who looked so sweet and saintly wise—

His buoyant spirit drew afar

From creaking timbers, shivering sails,

And ships that strain in autumn gales,

And snow-mixed rains, and sleeting hails,

And wind and waves at endless war.

Oh! who will e’er forget the day,

The bitter tears, the voiceless prayer,

The thoughts of grief we could not say,

The shallow graves within the bay,

The fifteen dear ones buried there,

The grown, the young, who, side by side,

Without or coffin, shroud, or priest,

Were laid; and him we mourned not least,—

The boy that had so bravely died!

[Pg 26]

[Pg 26]

 The Beggar Maid.

The Beggar Maid.

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