THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL.
The ship's bell tolled, and slowly o'er the deck
Came forth the summoned crew.—Bold, hardy men,
Far from their native skies, stood silent there,
With melancholy brows.—From a low cloud
That o'er the horizon hovered, came the threat
Of distant, muttered thunder. Broken waves
Heaved up their sharp, white helmets, o'er the expanse
Of ocean, which in brooding stillness lay
Like some vindictive king, who meditates
On hoarded wrongs, or wakes the wrathful war.
The ship's bell tolled!—And lo, a youthful form,
Which oft had boldly dared the slippery shrouds
At midnight's watch, was as a burden laid
Down at his comrades' feet.—Mournful they gazed
Upon his hollow cheek, and some there were
Who in that bitter hour remembered well
The parting blessing of his hoary sire,
And the fond tears that o'er his mother's cheek
Went coursing down, when his gay, happy voice
Left its farewell.—But one who nearest stood
To that pale shrouded corse, remembered more:—
Of a white cottage with its shaven lawn,
And blossomed hedge, and of a fair-haired girl
Who at her lattice, veiled with woodbine, watched
His last, far step, and then turned back to weep.
And close that comrade in his faithful breast
Hid a bright chestnut lock, which the dead youth
Had severed with a cold and trembling hand
