POETRY.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 141, 14 November 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

SEA DRIFT. A True Story. The wind and the waves were bearing us on To the land we had left so long, And all Avere so full of mirth and joy That our hearts broke forth in song. We hoped ere many days had pass’d In England again to be, To meet all those Ave loved so Avell, And our homes so dear to see.

When nearing us avc saAv a ship Come drifting sloAvly by ; We hail’d her—but no ans Aver came, Only the Avind’s faint sigh—- “ It is a deserted ship,” Ave said ; i i “ Let us see Avhere it Avas bound ; Let us all go on board and look at her, And see what may be found.” We boarded her ; no sound Ave heard, It seem’d no soul Avas there ; When, stay—a man lies on the deck, With figure gaunt and spare. All stiff and dead, his hands Avere cross’d Upon his breast; his face Turn’d to the sky a look Avhich made Us pause beside the place. Such weary, lingering suffering Was Avritten plainly there, Such agony of hope deferr’d, Such painfulness and care. We turn’d aAvay, all sick at heart. Twelve other forms Ave saAA", With still the same expression, Which chill’d us all Avith aAve. In fear Ave Avent beloAv and look’d Within the cabin door, Another corpse Avas kneeling there Upright upon the floor — A Bible small beside him lay, Old and well-Avorn Avith age ; We marked Avhat last had met his eye When reading from that page. The book Avas open at the psalm Which speaks to those at sea, Of the dangers God Avonld save them from. Of the “ haven Avhere they Avould be.” This Avas the captain of the ship ; And as avc looked around We saAv his papers and his chart Placed Avhere they might be found. Another avc saAv at the table sat, With a pen in his cold Avhite hand, And a letter begun, to be ended never,

To his love in his own dear land. A portrait lay by of a fair young girl Who look’d up with a beaming smile, As if listening for words to tell her when he Would return to England’s isle. That smiling glance and that rosy face Look’d up to the eyes of the dead, He was writing to her, his ‘ own true love,’ When his faitful spirit lied. We could look no more ; too plainly we knew The tale that those faces told, How Famine had seized them in her grasp Till all had grown dead and cold. Yes—here in the midst of the mighty deep They had hunger’d for food in vain, Had waited and waited for succour to come Till death had still’d their pain. And thankfulness fill’d us as we thought We might have been as they, That we might have craved for bread in vain And starved as they had that day. But we had weather’d many a gale And many a stormy sea, And we were sailing steadily on To the “ haven where we would be.” And they had once sailed on like us And rejoiced at the thought of home ; But the cruel calm had kept them there Till help too late had come. There was gold and silver in the ship ; But of biscuit, or bread, or meat, Not even the smallest piece was there, Not a crumb was left to eat. Before we went to our rest that night We did all that was left to do, We buried them in the calm blue sea, The captain and his crew. We said the Church’s funeral prayers When we gave them to the deep, Then sadly took charge of the lonely ship And left them to their sleep. A lock of hair, a bright brown curl, We dipt from one sailor’s head, And laid it upon the uuliniah’d note, A relic from the dead, H. E. 8.