Soon a crowd of small boats flutter
O'er the intervening space,
Bearing hearts too full to utter
Thoughts that flush the eager face!
See young Eric foremost gaining—
(For a father's love athirst!)
Every nerve and muscle straining,
But to touch the dear hand FIRST.
VIII.
In the ship's green shadow rocking
Lies his little boat at last,
Wherefore is the warm heart knocking
At his side, so loud and fast?
"What strange aspect is she wearing,
Vessel once so taut and trim?
Shout!—MY heart has lost its daring;
Comrades, search!—MY eyes are dim."
IX.
Sad the search, and fearful finding!
On the deck lay parched and dry
Men—who in some burning, blinding
Clime—had laid them down to die!
Hands—prayer—clenched—that would not sever,
Eyes that stared against the sun,
Sights that haunt the soul for ever,
Poisoning life—till life is done!
X.
Strength from fear doth Eric gather,
Wide the cabin door he threw—
Lo! the face of his dead father,
Stern and still, confronts his view!
Stately as in life he bore him,
Seated—motionless and grand,
On the blotted page before him
Lingers still the livid hand!
XI.
What sad entry was he making,
When the death-stroke fell at last?
"Is it then God's will, in taking
All, that I am left the last?
I have closed the cabin doorway,
That I may not see them die:—
Would our bones might rest in Norway,—
'Neath our own cool Northern sky!"