So we made the women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
Still, under steadfast men.
——What follows, why recall?—The brave who died,
Died without flinching in the bloody surf,
They sleep as well beneath that purple tide
As others under turf.
They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave,
Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,
Joint heirs with Christ, because they bled to save
His weak ones, not in vain.
If that day's work no clasp or medal mark,
If each proud heart no cross of bronze may press,
Nor cannon thunder loud from Tower or Park,
This feel we none the less:
That those whom God's high grace there saved from ill,
Those also left His martyrs in the bay,
Though not by siege, though not in battle, still
Full well had earned their pay.
ELIHU.
BY ALICE CAREY.
"O sailor, tell me, tell me true,
Is my little lad—my Elihu—
A-sailing in your ship?"
The sailor's eyes were dimmed with dew.
"Your little lad? Your Elihu?"
He said with trembling lip;
"What little lad—what ship?"
What little lad?—as if there could be
Another such a one as he!
"What little lad, do you say?
Why, Elihu, that took to the sea
The moment I put him off my knee.
It was just the other day
The Grey Swan sailed away."
The other day? The sailor's eyes
Stood wide open with surprise.
"The other day?—the Swan?"
His heart began in his throat to rise.
"Ay, ay, sir, here in the cupboard lies
The jacket he had on."
"And so your lad is gone!"