Old Year Leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

Each moment nearing fast her home,
A ship is cleaving through the foam,—
Home! ah, how sweet to those
Who in strange lands have absent been,
But still recalling each loved scene—
Their heart with rapture glows.
Thus there is boundless joy on board,
And jocundly with one accord
Are all prepared to land;
For when this last long night is done
Their hopes rise with the morrow's sun,—
Their haven is at hand.
Some sense-o'erstrainèd cannot sleep,
And through the watches wakeful keep,—
Longing for dawn of light;

202

The deck is paced by dauntless men,
The night is dark, save now and then
When stars appear in sight.

II.

What was that crash! that dismal sound
Which echoes through the darkness round—
That sharp soul-stricken scream?
The glance doth on confusion fall,
Those on the deck are wild, and all
Is like a dreadsome dream.
The ship has struck not far from shore,
But boisterously the billows roar,
Along a rock-bound bay;
Two boats are manned to put to land,
And struggling hard to gain the strand,
Pull through the blinding spray,
Leaving the rest to face their fate as best they may.

III.

The scene so lately still and calm
Seems nothing now save loud alarm,
And dread and direful woe—

203

One sight of sorrow meets the eye
On deck or down below.
While wind and seething waters vie
In working ill around,
Like sorcerers resolved to try
Their secret arts profound.
Shrill shrieks are heard on every side,
And none now aid nor seek to guide
The mad unresting crowd,
Who, scarce aware of what they do,
Pace passionately the deck; a few
Murmur a prayer heartfelt and true,
Or bitter moans—or curses too
In accents lewd and loud.

IV.

Down in a cabin lies a child
Heedless of death or tumult wild,
By sleep with blissful dreams beguiled:
A man reclines, removed a space,
Scarce entered middle life—
Yet in whose face you well may trace
Sad signs of care and strife.

204

V.

Now to the infant's side he springs,
And very speedily he brings
His charge from down below.
He casts one glance upon the storm,
Then tightly grasps the tiny form—
Nor shrinking seems to know.

VI.

His thoughts revert to long ago,
When fragile as this little child,
A mother's love upon him smiled
As it assuaged each infant woe:—
And taught him to be true and brave
In this weak world of sordid strife,
And even content to part with life
Did it perchance another save.
And then he prays to One above
To guide him in this deed of love.

VII.

From the doomed ship without delay
Through the wild waves he cleaves his way,
Needing surpassing strength

205

And dauntless courage thus to dare
To hold his burden and to bear
A swim of such a length.
The ruthless waters round him roll,
He well-nigh loses all control—
Yet still he struggles on;
And clasping to his breast the child,
He grapples with the billows wild
Till strength is almost gone.

VIII.

But see! his task is nearly o'er,
If he can swim a few yards more,
They surely reach the longed-for shore;
Brief moments now their fate will show
Whether it be of weal or woe.

IX.

And still he shapes his steadfast course
Straight onward to the land,
Yet with each stroke makes less the force
Which he can still command.
But all seems well—an instant more
Will see them safely on the shore.

206

X.

Sudden a gasp—a gurgling sound—
A short convulsive groan,—
And nothing now is heard around
Save the fierce storm alone.
For he has sunk to rise no more,
Exhausted with the conflict sore,
And as a rain-drop falling on a lake
Ripples its surface, yet can scarcely break
The depths beneath, so softly thus sinks he
Into the Ocean of Eternity.