SELECT POETRY. OASA BY ANCHOR.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 203, 21 December 1871, Page 7

SELECT POETRY. OASA BY ANCHOR.

The boy stood on the burning deck, Theie isn't any doubt ; And yet who saw him on the wreck ? Who really heard him shout ? Would he have stood And roasted there With jolly-boats so near. And bragged about his fierce despair, Nor walked off on hii ear ?

Why not give one good roar for oars ? Assail his pa for sail To waft him toward the fishing shores t Why stay aboard and wail ? What wonder standing there he seemed So beautiful and bright ? Who couldn't while around him beamed That lovely Titian light ? His pow-wow with his father I Regard as tempting fate ; If he declined to early die, Why stay there and dilate ? "Pa, can't you speak — a little piece? Just try a sneeze or cough, Hy nearest kin, kin you release, Or are you, father, . off ? *' And while his father slept below The boy, lie never stirred ; One of a " race " whomever " go " ' Unless they "get the word." He called aloud. " Am I allowed Your leave to leave ? Your son Stands fire, you know, but don't you crowd The thing ; I'm toasted done. " Of course I'll do what you desire, If you're laid upon the shelf ; I burn with ardor — but this fire ! You know how "tis yourself. " Speak, father, I would be released ! I list your loving tones ; " He knew not that his pa, deceased, Had gone to Davy Jones. Upon his brow he felt the heat, Yet stood serene and calm, With only now and then a bleat, Like Mary's little lamb. The yard and spars did burn and snap All in the wildest way ; Not c'en a shroud was left the chap, And he the only stay.. Theie came a burst of thunder peal — Good gracious ! Pretty soon Boy, ship and anchor, flag and keel, Went up in a balloon. And when this sound burst o'er the tide, The boy, oh ! where was he ? . Ask of the winds, for none beside Stayed long enough to see. -With mast and helm and pennon fair That acted well enough, The sickest tiling that perished there Was that young sailor muff. Now, boys, don't take a cent of stock In Cas-a-bi-an-ca ; The spots from such a son they'd knock, Our young A-mer-i ca.