The creak of cabin and bulkhead, The wail of rigging and mastThe roar of the shrouds as she rises From a deep lee-roll to the blast. The sullen throb of the engine, The binnacle slowly swaying, And nursing the faithful steelAnd the grizzled old quarter-master, His horny hands on the wheel. I can see it - the little cabin - The book and the empty chair. On the deck we have trod together, What do we give to our beloved ?\. A little dust to overweep What would we give to our beloved? | The whole earth blasted for our sake. The hero's heart, to be unmoved, ་་ He giveth IIis beloved sleep." But never doleful dreams again O earth, so full of dreary noises! His dews drop mutely on the hill, Ay, men may wonder while they scan For me, my heart that erst did go Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose, Who" giveth His beloved sleep." And friends, dear friends - when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, LITTLE MATTIE. DEAD? Thirteen a month ago! Short and narrow her life's walk. Lover's love she could not know Even by a dream or talk: Too young to be glad of youth; But if it were not so if I could find No love in all the world for comforting, Nor any path but hollowly did ring, Where dust to dust" the love from life disjoined — And if before these sepulchres unmoving I stood alone, (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth) Crying "Where are ye, O my loved and loving?" I know a voice would sound, "Daughter, I AM. Can I suffice for HEAVEN, and not for earth?" A PORTRAIT. One name is Elizabeth."-BEN JONSON. I WILL paint her as I see her; Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. |