Beneath the wave, In a crystal cave, By her mermaid band, And the mermaids wait All silently; She lieth alone By her empty throne, All silently. And the mermaids weep They a vigil keep. Hark! now they sing, And riseth above, On a gentle surge; Wave after wave And the sailors know, 'Neath that tuneful wave, In a crystal cave, In her ocean land, Queen Ina is laid to rest. FRANCES SESCADAROWNA LEWIN. [Of Egerton, St. Mary's, South Australia. Has published a volume entitled Songs of the South (Adelaide: Scrymgeour and Sons).] THE STORY OF ABEL TASMAN. BOLD and brave, and strong and stalwart, And his heart was proudly thrilling Daughter of a haughty father, Little wonder that she loved him, Seek my daughter for thy bride?" But at length the gallant seaman I must claim it for my country, And the captain, Abel Tasman, Thoughts of one with starlike eyes. Onward sailed he, where the crested White waves broke around his ship, With the love-light in his true eyes, And the song upon his lip. Onward sailed he, ever onward, Still they bear the names he gave. Toil and tempest soon were over, Thus should hurry from his prize, But those eyes were always looking Little did the gallant seaman Think that, in the days to be, England's hand should proudly wrest it From his land's supremacy. ONLY. ONLY a lovers' meeting Under the chestnut-trees, With passionate sympathies. Only a whispered word, Breathed low in the summer time, Yet a woman's heart is stirred To its depths by the passionate rhyme. Only a tiny ring Clasped on a finger fair, Yet her heart has passed for ever Into another's care. Pressed on her pure white brow, Only a letter from India Calling him to its shore; Only a moonlight parting, Yet "Love's young dream" is o'er. Only a year since sailing. When a lapse in his letters came; Only a sweet face paling, Whenever they mention his name. Only a letter at last Cold and haughtily sternWill she try to forget the past, And all his letters burn? He feels that they would not be happy, He hopes she will not mourn him, Only a silent grief When in her room alone; But tears bring no relief When every hope is flown. Only the constant memory Of their meetings 'neath the trees, Yet a girl's true heart is breaking Over trifles such as these. |