"Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me!"
Bind my hair in your plume; and, when you fight, remember your
"Florence de Vere."
We shall no longer spin out this already long chapter, but merely add, the vessel that bore John Ravensworth, and many other brave and fine young officers, sailed for India, but
"On India's long expected strand,
Their sails were never furled."
Whether she ran on a sunken rock, or went "down at sea, when heaven was all tranquillity," or was overtaken and shattered in a typhoon, or fell a prey to the pirates off Madagascar, who even then were not quite smothered, was long unknown.
John Ravensworth was an expert swimmer, and we can fancy how he struck manfully out on the wide waters; and, perhaps, holding high that golden lock, sank with her name on his lips to whom it belonged!
"There are to whom that ship was dear
For love and kindred's sake,
When these the voice of rumour hear
Their inmost breast shall quake,
Shall doubt and fear, and wish and grieve,
Believe and long to unbelieve,
But never cease to ache.
Still doomed in sad suspense to bear
The hope that keeps alive despair!"