XXXVII
When man has lost the moorings of his home,
And on the sea of life is tossed about,
Bereft of childhood’s anchorage of heart,
Nor wife, nor child have in his life a part,
Then cares he little for the farewell shout,
And sometimes little whither he may roam.
Not so with children, when the evening-star,
In the cerulean, like mother-eye,
Sends forth its heavenly gleam of love and peace,—
The longing for the home doth then increase,
And from the soul goes up a bitter cry
To be with those so dear, but so afar.
Sordino’s page stood at the railing, as
The ship bore down the Thames, that star-lit night,
And none did mark the tears that trickled fast,
And none did see the glances which he cast
Towards the home which was his soul’s delight,
While farther, farther from it he did pass.
Sordino missed him, sitting in the hold,
And asked his new-found friend to bring him down,
And as he came and stood in the dim glow
Of candle-light, at once with pain he saw
The redness of his eyes, so large and brown,
And felt his hands, that they were strangely cold.
And he did put his arm around his neck,
And lowly spoke with tenderness and cheer,
That he should see again the home he loved,
And him with goodly promises endowed
Of favors that would make each coming year
As carefree as the sailors on the deck.