His life had known no counter gale,
He had the aid of wind and tide,
And dreamed that soon a snowy sail
Should bear him to his future bride.
’Twas but a letter—nothing much—
A scrap of paper sent to him,
Yet something he did clutch and clutch
The while his dusky eyes grew dim.
And oh, how eagerly he scanned
Each syllable that formed her name!