Casabianca.
“Casabianca,” by Felicia Hemans (1793-1835), is the portrait of a faithful heart, an example of unreasoning obedience. It is right that a child should obey even to the death the commands of a loving parent.
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The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck Shone round him o’er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames rolled on—he would not go Without his father’s word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud, “Say, father, say If yet my task is done?” He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. “Speak, father!” once again he cried, “If I may yet be gone!” And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair; And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud “My father! must I stay?” While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child Like banners in the sky. Then came a burst of thunder sound— The boy—oh! where was he? —Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strew the sea; With mast, and helm, and pennon fair. That well had borne their part— But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young, faithful heart. |
Felicia Hemans.
The Captain’s Daughter.
“The Captain’s Daughter,” by James T. Fields (1816-81), carries weight with every young audience. It is pointed to an end that children love—viz., trust in a higher power.
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We were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep,— It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. ’Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, “Cut away the mast!” So we shuddered there in silence,— For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring And the breakers talked with Death. As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy with his prayers, “We are lost!” the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs. But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand, “Isn’t God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land?” Then we kissed the little maiden. And we spoke in better cheer, And we anchored safe in harbour When the morn was shining clear. |
James T. Fields.
[“The 'village smithy’ stood in Brattle Street, Cambridge. There came a time when the chestnut-tree that shaded it was cut down, and then the children of the place put their pence together and had a chair made for the poet from its wood.”]