The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1901-10-03

The sailors eyes were dim with dew
"Your little lad, your Elihu?''
He said with trembling lip
|. s'What little lad? What ship?''
"What little lad |? as if there could be
Another such a one as he!
What little lad, do you say?
Why, Elihu, that took to the sea
The moment put him off my knee!
1t was just the other day
The Gray Swan sailed away
s'The other day ?"-the sailors eyes
Stood open wide with great surprise
'3The other day? the Swan?
His heart began in his throat to rise.
GAY, ay, sir, here in the cupboard lies
sAnd so your lad is gone!''
"Gone with the Swan" Sand did she stand
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand,
For a month and never stir ?"
TTWhy to be sure! I've seen from the land,
The wild sea kissing her."
sAnd so your lad is gomez"
"But, my dear mother, do you know
All this was twenty years ago?
I stood on the Gray Swans deck,
And to that lad saw you throw,
Taking it off, as it might be, so!
The kerchiei from your neck"
cay, and he'll bring it back!''
''And did the little lawless lad
That has made you sick and made you sad,
Sail with the Gray Swans crew."
"Lawless! the man is going mad
The best boy ever mother had
Be sure he sailed with the crew!
What would you have him do?"
"And has he never written line,
a a
To say he was alive?"
"HOld if twas wrong, the wrong is mine :;
Besides, he may be in the brine,
And could he write from the grave!
But man! what would you have 90
Twas wicked thus your love to abuse;
But if the lad still live,
And come back home, think you, you can
Forgive him." miserable man,
You're as mad as the sea-you rave
What have Ito forgives9'
The sailor twitched his shirt so blue,
And from within his bosom drew
The kerchief. She was wild.
"My God My Father is it true?"
My little lad, my Elihu!
My blessed boy, my child!
My dead, my living childH'
Alice Carey.
SONG OF THE WRECK.
High DER the beach the shattered hulk,
With, stormy renched tlmberS stern and
Mars, with its grim, unsightly bulk,
The brightness of the golden day;
While tossed on high each gnarled beam,
Clear cut against the amber sky,
Like wrestling giant arms might seem,
Flung out in helpless agony.
And fancy counts the winters gone
Since, bowed beneath the tempest'S hate,
The hapleSS vessel, drifting on,
Came grOaning, Shuddering to her fate,
And gallant lives of Stalwart men,
Borne upward on the raging air,
Went out mid terror, night, and pain,
In one fierce pang OF wild despair.
Now while on shore and sea the sun
1Us purple mantle gently lays,
And far-Seen islands, one by one,
Melt in the rosy glimmering haze
While yelling up through breach and seam,
The Sun-tipped WaveletS pulSing flow,
Telling the beach their summer dream
In sea-blown murmurs faint and low
Fair, gentle girls, with eyes like stars,
And ripping laughter crisp and sweet,
Cluster around the gray old spars,
The bright foam dancing to their feet,
Till when the sunset glories fade,
And twilight deepens into night,
When, keenly, flashing through the shade,
Flames DER the sea the beacon light,
Their parting voices wane and faint
To stiffness all unknown before,
Save where the night wind means its plant
Round wreck and tower, on wave and
shore.
Courage, sad heart Though dark and chill
Thy Storm-wrecked life in ruins lie,
Though wailing ghosts its chambers fill,
And strength and hope and impulse die.
Still youth and love some tender CLEANS,
Some joy-light, Ger thy gloom shall cast,
Stirring to transient, happy dreams
The old sweet yearningS OF the past.
And when the darkness falls again,
Stand, like the watch-tOwer, strong and
In patience bide thy lonely pain,
Steadfast, remember-and endure!
Charles Carroll, in Rarper's Magazine.