[HAKON AND RAGON.]
A TRUE INCIDENT OF THE ORCADES.
BY LILLIE E. BARR.
Oh, how the wild north winds stormed loud in the Pentland Firth,
Beating the shores of the Orcades Isles, all white with foam!
Oh, 'mid the shuddering cold and frost, was life aught worth?
Yes, for they saw through the blackness the lights of Home.
Hakon and Ragon alone were left of the gallant crew
That had sailed to the arctic seas more than a year ago.
Some had perished of hunger, and some where great winds blew:
Only they two on the ship, sinking so surely below.
But when the morning dawned, and the ship broke slowly apart,
They saw men launching the life-boat. Ah, would it come too late!
Naught was left but a three-foot spar. Each saw, with a sinking heart,
It would keep but one afloat. Then Hakon said, sadly: "My mate,
"Thou hast a wife and lasses and lads, and I am only one.
Good-by! I'll give thee a chance, Ragon. God bless thee, mate! Good-by!"
And down he sank with a smiling face, his duty bravely done.
Little he cared for fame: he'd found a noble way to die.
Then, when the tide beat inland, and Hakon came to his place,
All the little Orcades town brought back the hero's clay,
And bore him to Ragon's cottage with loving tears and grace.
Many were there to weep for him, many were there to pray.
The dominie kissed his brave cold hand, and said, "Hakon, well done!
Mothers, I bid you tell your sons how Hakon lived and died.
Nay, do not weep; this sailor boy a noble crown has won:
He rests in God, and in our hearts his memory shall abide."
And in that "Court of Peace" that lies in Stromness old and gray
There is a spot where, spite of cold, the long green grasses wave,
Where youths and maidens wander, and little children play.
Ask them its charm, they'll answer you, "Why, this is Hakon's grave!"
[THE RAISING OF THE OBELISK.]
BY E. MASON.
It was a beautiful day, and ever since early morning people had been pouring into the great square in front of St. Peter's, at Rome, and now at noon the square was filled with a silent crowd, the neighboring balconies with groups, silent too, and all gazing intently in the same direction. Not at the Pope, who, in his robes, and attended by his suite, was conspicuous in one of the balconies, nor at the strange sight at the four corners of the square—four empty gibbets which rose threateningly against the blue sky—but at the centre, where were a number of workmen, with machinery, grouped about the obelisk.