Forgive him?” “Miserable man,
You’re mad as the sea,—you rave,—
What have I to forgive?”
The sailor twitched his shirt so blue,
And from within his bosom drew
The kerchief. She was wild.
“My God! my Father! is it true?
My little lad, my Elihu!
My blessed boy, my child!
My dead, my living child!”