"'Many a year has come and past
Since a ship sailed over the ocean fast,
Bound for a port on England's shore,--
She sailed--but was never heard of more.'
"'Mamma'--and she closer pressed her side,--
'Was that the time when my father died?--
Is it his ship you think you see?--
Dearest mamma--won't you speak to me?'
"The lady paused, but then calmly said,
'Yes, Lucy--the sea was his dying bed,
And now whenever I hear the blast
I think again of that storm long past.
"'The winds' fierce bowlings hurt not me,
But I think how they beat on the pathless sea,--
Of the breaking mast--of the parting rope,--
Of the anxious strife and the failing hope.'
"'Mamma,' said the child with streaming eyes,
'My father has gone above the skies;
And you tell me this world is mean and base
Compared with heaven--that blessed place.'
"'My daughter, I know--I believe it all,--
I would not his spirit to earth recall.
The blest one he--his storm was brief,--
Mine, a long tempest of tears and grief.
"'I have you, my darling--I should not sigh.
I have one star more in my cloudy sky,--
The hope that we both shall join him there,
In that perfect rest from weeping and care.'"
"Well, mother,--how do you like it?" said Hugh whose eyes gave tender witness to his liking for it.
"It is pretty--" said Mrs. Rossitur.
Hugh exclaimed, and Fleda laughing took it out of her hand.