University of Virginia Library


25

THE LITTLE HAND.

Our hut was near the ocean marge,
One summer many a year ago,
Where, all around, the huge rocks plunged
Their giant forms in deeps below.

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At eve we saw the sun go down
The watery western skies afar,
And hailed with eager, childish joy
The light of every new-born star.
Along the beach, among the cliffs,
Our days in pastime seemed to glide,
As if the hours were made to mark
The ebb and flow of ocean's tide.
We said, “Till all our locks are gray,
Each year in June we'll hither roam,
And pitch our tent; no other spot
Shall be our life-long summer home.”

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One morn we strolled along the shore,
To watch the waves come rolling in:
The night had been a night of fear,
Of thunder-crash and tempest din.
In glee we sang our ocean songs,
As on we moved across the sand.
“What 's that among the salt sea-weed?”
A little helpless human hand!
We put the cold, wet grass aside,
The gathering surf we brushed away,
And there, in pallid death's embrace,
A shipwrecked child extended lay.

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We took it from the murderous wave,
Looked once upon the storm-scared eyes,
Then scooped a grave where waters moan,
And oft the wailing sea-bird flies.
The charm had fled;—the hut, the cliff,
The beach so often wandered o'er,
Were poisoned by a lifeless hand;—
We went—and we returned no more!