HER VOYAGE IS AT AN END.

Hushed was the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy; There sat upon the rocky shore A father and his boy.

Far off they saw a gallant ship, It came from foreign lands; The boy began to dance and skip, And clap his little hands.

Her wished-for port is near at hand, The ship is hastening on; They hear the birds sing on the land; Her voyage is nearly done.

The boy's glad notes, his shouts of glee, The rocks with music fill; But now he cries,— “See, father, see! The ship is standing still.”

Her masts are trembling from the shock. Her white sails all descend; The ship has struck upon a rock,— Her voyage is at an end.

The sailors hurry to and fro, All crowded is the deck; She struggles hard,— she's free;— O, no! She is indeed a wreck.

The boy's young heart is full of grief: “Father! what will she do? Let's take the boat to her relief, O, quickly let us go!”

They went,— and many a stronger hand Its ready succour gave; They brought the crew all safe to land, And the cargo tried to save.

The night comes on, the night is dark, More dark the billows seem; They break against the ship, and hark! The seamew's mournful scream.

The boy upon his pillow lies, In sweet repose he sinks; And, as he shuts his weary eyes, On the poor ship he thinks.

The sun shines o'er the watery main As it did the day before; The father and his son again Are seated on the shore.

With the western wind full many a boat Their white sails gayly fill, They lightly o'er the blue waves float,— But the gallant ship is still.

The sailors now the mournful wreck Of masts and rigging strip; The waves are playing o'er the deck Of the sad and ruined ship.

A crow upon the top branch stood Of a lone and blasted tree; He seemed to look upon the flood With a gloomy sympathy.

The boy now looks up at the bird, At the sinking vessel now; He does not speak a single word. But a shade is on his brow.

Now slowly comes a towering wave, And sweeps with triumph on; It bears her to her watery grave,— The gallant ship is gone.

Hushed is the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy; The father sits upon the shore In silence with his boy.