Class J]PS_2A9^Z. 
 
 Book 1_ 
 
 GcnyrightN? _^ 
 
 COFBUGHT DEPOBIC 
 
>' ■ -^- -. 
 
 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
Songs 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 Southern Seas, 
 
 ^nti ©tfjEt Poems. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
 (3 ...^SH..i 
 
 
 
 BOSTON: ,^ 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1873. 
 

 6^. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'rEILLY, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, atfWashington. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 PKESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
 
CAPTAIN DAVID E. GIFFORD, 
 
 OF THE WHALING BAEQUE " GAZELLE," OF NEW BEDFORD. 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 
 
 In February, 1869, I left the coast of Western Australia in a small 
 boat without a sail. Peculiar circumstances rendered it impossible that 
 I should return : my only path lay across the Indian Ocean. It pleased 
 God that my boat was seen from the masthead of the " Gazelle," com- 
 manded by Captain Gifford, who picked me up and treated me with 
 all kindness during a seven months' whaling cruise. On parting with 
 him at the Cape of Good Hope, he lent me twenty guineas to help me on 
 my way to America. One of the greatest pleasures this little book can 
 ever afford me is the writing of this dedication. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It may be well to say in the opening of this 
 book that many of the scenes therein shown are 
 taken from a land blessed by God and blighted 
 by man, — a Penal Colony. Western Australia, 
 the poorest and the loveliest of all the Australias, 
 has received from the mother country only her 
 shame and her crime. 
 
 I cannot write excuses for the many faults 
 and crudities in this first book : if nobody else 
 can prize the volume, I myself can. Not for 
 its literary worth, indeed ; but for many hours of 
 pleasure which its composition has given to me. 
 Whatever merit it may be denied, it must cer- 
 tainly possess that, if merit it be, of realism. 
 Many of the scenes shown are memories, not 
 imaginings, — things which clamored for recogni- 
 tion, and I have written them here. 
 
 The Author. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The King of the Vasse 15 
 
 The Dog Guard G5 
 
 The Amber Whale 75 
 
 The Dukite Snake 101 
 
 The Monster Diamond 113 
 
 Haunted by Tigers 123 
 
 Western Australia 137 
 
 GoLu 140 
 
 Chunder Ali's Wife 143 
 
 Hidden Sins 147 
 
 Unspoken Words 149 
 
 My Native Land 151 
 
 The Poison Flower 153 
 
 My Mother's Memory 155 
 
 The Old School Clock 156 
 
 A Legend of the Blessed Virgin 160 
 
 The Wreck of the Atlantic 163 
 
 Withered Snowdrops 166 
 
 The Wail of Two Cities 169 
 
 The Fishermen op Wexford 172 
 
 The Flying Dutchman 179 
 
 Uncle Ned's Tale. — An Old Dragoon's Story . . 191 
 
 Uncle Ned's Tales. —How the Flag was Saved . . 210 
 
Delightful land, in wildncss even benign, 
 The glorious past is ours, the future thine I 
 As in a cradled Hercules, we trace 
 The lines of empire in thine infant face. 
 What nations in thy wide horizon's span 
 Shall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man I 
 What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam 
 Where now the panther laps a lonely stream, 
 And all but brute or reptile life is dumb 1 
 liiuid of the free ! thy kingdom is to come. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
Nor gold nor silver are the words set here, 
 
 Nor rich-wrought chasing on design of art / 
 Jiut rugged relics of an unhnown sphere 
 
 "Where fortune chanced I played one time apart. 
 I say not this to pity move, or praise, — 
 
 This little, faulty hooh is all my own. 
 In which Z'ye writ of men and things and ways 
 
 Uncouth and rough as Austral ironstone. 
 
 It may he, I have left the higher gleams 
 
 Of shies and flowers unheeded or forgot , 
 It may he so, — hut, looking hack, it seems 
 
 When Iioas with them I heheld them not. 
 I was no ramhling poet, hut a man 
 
 Sard-pressed to dig and delve, with naught of ease 
 The hot day through, save when the evening's fan 
 
 Of sea-winds rustled through the Jcindly trees. 
 
 It may he so j hut when I think I smile 
 
 At my poor hand and hrain to paint the charms 
 
 Of God^ s first-hlazoned cannas ! here the aisle 
 Moonlit and deep of reaching gothic arms 
 
From towering gums^ mahogany^ and palm^ 
 And odorous jam and sandal ; there the growth 
 
 Of arm-long velvet leaves grown hoar iti calm, — 
 Jn calm unbroken since their luscious youth. 
 
 JETow can J show you all the silent birds 
 
 With stra7ige metallic glintings on the. wing ? 
 Or how tell half their sadness in cold words, — 
 
 The poor dumb lutes, the birds that never sing f 
 Of wo7idrous parrot-greens and iris hue 
 
 Of sensuous flower and of gleaming snake, — 
 Ah ! what 1 see I long that so might you, 
 
 £ut of these things what picture can J make ? 
 
 Sometime, maybe, a man will wander there, — 
 
 A m,ind God-gifted, and not dull and weak / 
 And he will come and paint that land so fair. 
 
 And shoiD the beauties of which I but speaJc. 
 But in the hard, sad days that there I spent. 
 
 My mind absorbed rude pictures : these I show 
 As best I may, and just with this intent, — 
 
 To tell some things that all folk may not know. 
 
WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 
 
 THE KING OF THE VASSE. 
 A LEGEND OF THE BUSH. 
 
From thai fair land and drear land in ihe South, 
 
 Of which through years I do not cease to think, 
 I brought a tale, learned not by word of mouth. 
 
 But formed by finding here one golden link 
 And there another ; and with hands unskilled 
 
 For such fine work, but patient of all i^ain 
 For love of it, I sought therefrom to build 
 
 What might have been at first the goodly chain. 
 
 It is not golden now : my craft knows more 
 Of working baser metal than of fine; 
 
 But to those fate-wrought rings of precious ore 
 I add these rugged iron links of mine. 
 
SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 THE KING OF THE VASSE. 
 
 A LEGEND OP THE BUSH. 
 
 lYyTY tale wliicli I have brought is of a time 
 
 Ere that fair Southern land was stained with 
 crime, 
 Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast 
 Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast 
 From angry levin on a fair young tree, 
 That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see. 
 So stands this land to-day beneath the sun, — 
 A weltering plague-spot ; while not any one 
 Of all the Christian lands upon the earth, 
 Not e'en the rock that last had ocean birth, 
 Would call her sister, — she, the fairest shore 
 In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er. 
 Poor Cinderella ! she must weep her woe, 
 Because an elder sister wills it so. 
 
1 6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Ah \ could that sister see the future day 
 
 When her own wealth and strength are shorn 
 
 away, 
 And she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand 
 To rest on kindred blood in that far land ; 
 Could she but see that kin deny her claim 
 Because of nothing owing her but shame, — 
 Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall, 
 If carted rubble be the basement-wall. 
 
 But this my tale, if tale it be, begins 
 Before the young land saw the old land's sins 
 Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud 
 Far-blown, and widening as it neared, — a shroud 
 Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure. 
 And mark the leper-land while stains endure. 
 
 In the far days, the few who sought the West 
 Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest 
 Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain, 
 And help them live their lives with less of pain 
 Than crowded Europe lets her cliildren know. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 1 7 
 
 From their old homesteads did they seaward go, 
 
 As if in Nature's order men must flee 
 
 As flow the streams, — from inlands to the sea. 
 
 In that far time, from out a Northern land, 
 With home-ties severed, went a numerous band 
 Of men and wives and children, white-haired 
 
 folk: 
 Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke, 
 As year was piled on year, and still their toil 
 Had wrung poor fee from Sweden's rugged soil. 
 One day there gathered from the neighboring steads, 
 In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads, — 
 Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons. 
 Though he was hale, as one whose current runs 
 In stony channels, that the streamlet rend, 
 But keep it clear and full unto the end. 
 Eight sons had Jacob Eibsen, — three stUl boys. 
 And these five men, who owned of griefs and 
 
 joys 
 The common lot ; and three tall girls beside. 
 Of whom the eldest was ablusliing bride 
 
1 8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 One year before. Old-fashioned times and men, 
 And wives and maidens, were in Sweden then. 
 These five came there for counsel : they were 
 
 tired 
 Of hoping on for all the heart desired ; 
 And Jacob, old but mighty-thewed as youth, 
 In all their words did sadly own the truth, 
 And said unto them, " Wealth cannot be found 
 In Sweden now by men who till the ground. 
 I 've thought at times of leaving this bare place. 
 And holding seaward with a seeking face 
 For those new lands they speak of, where men 
 
 thrive. 
 Alone I 've thought of this ; but now you five — 
 Five brother men of Eibsen blood — shall say 
 If our old stock from here must wend their 
 
 way. 
 And seek a home where anxious sires can give 
 To every child enough whereon to live." 
 
 Then each took thought in silence. Jacob gazed 
 Across them at the pastures worn and grazed 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 19 
 
 By ill-fed herds ; his glance to corn-fields passed, 
 Where stunted oats, worse each year than the last, 
 And blighted barley, grew amongst the stones, 
 That showed ungainly, like earth's fleshless bones. 
 He sighed, and turned away. " Sons, let me know 
 What think you." 
 
 Each one answered firm, " We go." 
 And then they said, " We want no northern wind 
 To chill us more, or driving hail to blind. 
 But let us sail where south winds fan the sea, 
 And happier we and aU our race shall be." 
 And so in time there started for the coast, 
 With farm and household gear, this Eibsen host ; 
 And .there, with others, to a good ship passed. 
 Which soon of Sweden's hills beheld the last. 
 
 I know not of their voyage, nor how they 
 Did wonder-stricken sit, as day by day, 
 'Neath tropic rays, they saw the smooth sea swell 
 And heave; while night by night the north-star 
 feU, 
 
20 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Till last they watched Mm burning on the sea ; 
 Nor how they saw, and wondered it could be, 
 Strange beacons rise before them as they gazed ; 
 Nor how their hearts grew light when southward 
 
 blazed 
 Five stars in blessed shape, — the Cross ! whose 
 
 flame 
 Seemed shining welcome as the wanderers came. 
 
 My story presses from this star-born hope 
 
 To where on young New Holland's western slope 
 
 These Northern farming folk found homes at 
 
 last, 
 And all their thankless toil seemed now long 
 
 past. 
 
 Nine fruitful years chased over, and nigh all 
 Of life was sweet. But one dark drop of gall 
 Had come when first they landed, like a sign 
 Of some black woe ; and deep in Eibsen's wine 
 Of life it hid, till in the sweetest cup 
 The old man saw its shape come shuddering up. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 21 
 
 And first it came in this wise : when their ship 
 
 Had made the promised land, and every lip 
 
 Was pouring praise for what the eye did meet, — 
 
 For all the au' was yellow as with heat 
 
 Above the peaceful sea and dazzling sand 
 
 That wooed each other round the beauteous land, 
 
 Where inward stretched the slumbering forest's 
 
 green, — 
 When first these sights from off the deck were 
 
 seen, 
 There rose a wailing sternwards, and the men 
 Who dreamt of heaven turned to earth agen, 
 And heard the direful cause with bated breath, — 
 The land's first gleam had brought the blight of 
 
 death ! 
 
 The wife of Eibsen held her six-years son. 
 Her youngest, and in secret best-loved one, 
 Close to her lifeless : his had been the cry 
 That first horizonwards bent every eye ; 
 And from that opening sight of sand and tree 
 Like one deep spell-bound did he seem to be, 
 
22 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And moved by some strange phantasy ; his eyes 
 
 Were wide distended as in glad surprise 
 
 At something there he saw ; his arms reached 
 
 o'er 
 The vessel's side as if to greet the shore, 
 And sounds came from his lips like sobs of joy. 
 
 A brief time so ; and then the blue-eyed boy 
 Sank down convulsed, as if to him appeared 
 Strange sights that they saw not ; and all afeard 
 Grew the late joj'ous people with vague dread ; 
 And loud the mother wailed above her dead. 
 
 The ship steered in and found a bay, and then 
 The anchor plunged aweary-like : the men 
 Breathed breaths of rest at treading land agen. 
 
 Upon the beach by Christian men untrod 
 
 The wanderers kneeling offered up to God 
 
 The land's first-fruits ; and nigh the kneeling band 
 
 The burdened mother sat upon the sand, 
 
 And stiU she wailed, not praying. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 23 
 
 'Neath the wood 
 That Imed the beach a crowd of watchers stood : 
 Tall men spear-armed, with skms like dusky night, 
 And aspect blended of deep awe and fright. 
 The ship that morn they saw, like some vast bird, 
 Come saihng toward their country ; and they heard 
 The voices now of those strange men whose eyes 
 Were turned aloft, who spake unto the skies ! 
 
 They heard and feared, not knowing, that first 
 
 prayer, 
 But feared not when the wail arose, for there 
 Was some familiar thing did not appall, — 
 Qrief, common heritage and lot of all. 
 They moved and breathed more freely at the cry, 
 And slowly from the wood, and timorously, 
 They one by one emerged upon the beach. 
 The white men saw, and like to friends did reach 
 Their hands unarmed ; and soon the dusky crowd 
 Drew nigh and stood where wailed the mother 
 
 loud. 
 They claimed her kindred, they could understand 
 
24 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 That woe was hers and theirs ; whereas the band 
 Of white-skinned men did not as brethren seem. 
 
 But now, behold ! a man, whom one would deem 
 
 From eye and mien, wherever met, a King, 
 
 Did stand beside the woman. No youth's spring 
 
 Was in the foot that naked pressed the sand ; 
 
 No warrior's might was in the long dark hand 
 
 That waved his people backward ; no bright gold 
 
 Of lace or armor glittered ; gaunt and- old, — 
 
 A belt, half apron, made of emu-down, 
 
 Upon his loins ; upon his head no crown 
 
 Save only that which eighty years did trace 
 
 In whitened hair above his furrowed face. 
 
 Nigh nude he was : a short fur boka hung 
 
 In toga-folds upon his back, but flung 
 
 From his right arm and shoulder, — ever there 
 
 The spear-arm of the warrior is bare. 
 
 So stood he nigh the woman, gaunt and wild 
 But king-like, spearless, looking on the child 
 That lay with livid face upon her knees. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 25 
 
 Thus long and fixed lie gazed, as one who sees 
 A symbol hidden in a simple thing, 
 And trembles at its meaning : so the King- 
 Fell trembling there, and from his breast there 
 
 broke 
 A cry, part joy, part fear ; then to his folk 
 With upraised hands he spoke one guttural word, 
 And said it over thrice ; and when they heard, 
 They, too, were stricken with strange fear and joy. 
 
 The white-haired King then to the breathless boy 
 Drew closer still, while all the dusky crowd 
 In weird abasement to the earth were bowed. 
 Across his breast the aged ruler wore 
 A leathern thong or belt ; whate'er it bore / 
 
 Was hidden 'neath the boka. As he drew 
 Anigh the mother, from his side he threw 
 Far back the skin that made his rich-furred robe, 
 And showed upon the belt a small red globe 
 Of carven wood, bright-polished, as with years : 
 When this they saw, deep grew his people's fears, 
 And to the white sand were their foreheads 
 pressed. 
 
26 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The King then raised his arms, as if he blest 
 The youth who lay there seeming dead and cold ; 
 Then took the globe and oped it, and behold ! 
 \Vithin it, bedded in the carven case. 
 There lay a precious thing for that rude race 
 To hold, though it as God they seemed to prize, ^ 
 A Pearl of purest hue and wondrous size I 
 
 And as the sunbeams kissed it, from the dead 
 The dusk King looked, and o'er his snowy head 
 With both long hands he raised the enthroned 
 
 gem. 
 And turned him toward the strangers: e'en on 
 
 them 
 Before the lovely Thing, an awe did fall 
 To see that worship deep and mystical. 
 That King with upraised god, like rev'rent priest 
 With elevated Host at Christian feast. 
 
 Then to the mother turning slow, the King 
 Took out the Pearl, and laid the beauteous Thing 
 Upon the dead boy's mouth and brow and breast, 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 27 
 
 And as it touched liim, lo ! the awful rest 
 Of death was broken, and the youth uprose I 
 
 Nine years passed over since on that fair shore 
 The wanderers knelt, — but wanderers they no 
 
 more. 
 With hopeful hearts they bore the promise-pain 
 Of early labor, and soon bending grain 
 And herds and homesteads and a teeming soil 
 A thousand-fold repaid their patient toil. 
 
 Nine times the sun's high glory glared above, 
 
 As if his might set naught on human love, 
 
 But yearned to scorn and scorch the things that 
 
 grew 
 On man's poor home, till all the forest's hue 
 Of blessed green was burned to dusty brown ; 
 And still the ruthless rays rained fiercely down, 
 Till insects, reptiles, shrivelled as they lay. 
 And piteous cracks, like lips, in parching clay 
 Sent silent pleadings skyward, — as if she. 
 
28 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The fruitful, generous mother, plauitively 
 
 Did wail for water. Lo ! her cry is heard, 
 
 And swift, obedient to the Ruler's word. 
 
 From Southern Iceland sweeps the cool sea breeze, 
 
 To fan the earth and bless the suffering trees, 
 
 And bear dense clouds with bursting weight of 
 
 rain 
 To soothe with moisture all the parching pain. 
 
 Oh, Mercy's sweetest symbol ! only they 
 Who see the earth agape in burning day, 
 Who watch its living things thirst-stricken lie, 
 And turn from brazen heaven as they die, — 
 Their hearts alone, the shadowy cloud can prize 
 That veils the sun, — as to poor earth-dunraed eyes 
 The sorrow comes to veil our joy's dear face. 
 All rich in mercy and in God's sweet grace ! 
 
 Thrice welcome, clouds from seaward, settling down 
 O'er thirsting nature ! Now the trees' dull brown 
 Is washed away, and leaflet buds appear, 
 And youngling undergrowth, and far and neax 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 29 
 
 The bush is whispering in her pent-up glee, 
 
 As myriad roots bestir them to be free, 
 
 And drink the soaking moisture ; while bright 
 
 heaven 
 Shows clear, as inland are the spent clouds driven ; 
 And oh ! that arch, that sky's intensest hue ! 
 That deep, God-painted, unimagined blue 
 Through which the golden sun now smiling sails. 
 And sends his love to fructify the vales 
 That late he seemed to curse ! Earth throbs and 
 
 heaves 
 With pregnant prescience of life and leaves ; 
 The shadows darken 'neath the tall trees' screen. 
 While round their stems the rank and velvet green 
 Of undergrowth is deeper still ; and there, 
 "Within the double shade and steaming air. 
 The scarlet palm has fixed its noxious root, 
 And hangs the glorious poison of its fruit ; 
 And there, 'mid shaded green and shaded light. 
 The steel-blue silent birds take rapid flight 
 From earth to tree and tree to earth ; and there 
 The crunson-plumaged parrot cleaves the air 
 
30 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Like flying fire, and huge brown owls awake 
 
 To watch, far down, the stealing carpet snake, 
 
 Fresh-skinned and glowing in his changing dyes, 
 
 With evil wisdom in the cruel eyes 
 
 That glint like gems as o'er his head flits by 
 
 The blue-black armor of the emperor-fly ; 
 
 And all the humid earth displays its powers 
 
 Of prayer, with incense from the hearts of flowers 
 
 That load the air with beauty and with wine 
 
 Of mhigled color, as with one design 
 
 Of making there a carpet to be trod, 
 
 In woven splendor, by the feet of God ! 
 
 And high o'erhead is color : round and round 
 
 The towering gums and tuads, closely wound 
 
 Like cables, creep the climbers to the sun, 
 
 And over all the reaching branches run 
 
 And hang, and still send shoots that climb and 
 
 wind 
 Till every arm and spray and leaf is twined, 
 And miles of trees, like brethren joined in love, 
 Are drawn and laced ; while round them and 
 
 above. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 31 
 
 When all is knit, tlie creeper rests for days 
 As gathering might, and then one blinding blaze 
 Of very glory sends, in wealth and strength, 
 Of scarlet flowers o'er the forest's length ! 
 
 Such scenes as these have subtile power to trace 
 Their clear-lined impress on the mind and face ; 
 And these strange simple folk, not knowing why, 
 Grew more and more to silence ; and the eye, 
 The quiet eye of Swedish gray, grew deep 
 With listening to the solemn rustling sweep 
 From wings of Silence, and the earth's great psalm 
 Intoned forever by the forest's calm. 
 
 But most of all was younger J.acob changed : 
 From morn till night, alone, the woods he ranged, 
 To kindred, pastime, sympathy estranged. 
 Since that first day of landing from the ship 
 When with the Pearl on brow and breast and lip 
 The aged King had touched him and he rose. 
 His former life had left hun, and he chose 
 The woods as home, the wild, uncultured men 
 As friends and comrades. It were better then, 
 
32 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 His bretliren said, the boy had truly died 
 Than they should live to be by him denied, 
 As now they were. He lived in sombre mood, 
 He spoke no word to them, he broke no food 
 That they did eat : his former life was dead, — 
 The soul brought back was not the soul that 
 
 fled! 
 'Twas Jacob's form and feature, but the light ■ 
 Within his eyes was strange unto their sight. 
 
 His mother's grief was piteous to see : 
 
 Unloving was he to the rest, but she 
 
 Held undespairing hope that deep within 
 
 Her son's changed heart was love that she might 
 
 win 
 By patient tenderness ; and so she strove 
 For nine long years, but won no look of love I 
 
 At last his brethren gazed on him with awe, 
 And knew untold that from the form they saw 
 Their brother's gentle mind was sure dispelled, 
 And now a gloomy savage soul it held. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. ZZ 
 
 From tliat first day, close intercourse lie had 
 With those who raised him up, — fierce men, 
 
 unclad, 
 Spear-armed and wild, in all their ways uncouth. 
 And strange to every habit of his youth. 
 His food they brought, his will they seemed to 
 
 crave, 
 The wildest bushman tended like a slave ; 
 He worked their charms, their hideous chants he 
 
 sung ; 
 Though dumb to all his own, their guttural tongue 
 He often spokeJu tones of curt command. 
 And kinged it proudly o'er the dusky band. 
 
 And once each year there gathered from afar 
 
 A swarming host, as if a sudden war 
 
 Had called them forth, and with them did they 
 
 bring 
 In solemn, savage pomp the white-haired King, 
 Who year by year more withered was and weak ; 
 And he would lead the youth apart and speak 
 
 2* 
 
34 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Some occult words, and from the carven case 
 Would take the Pearl and touch the young man's 
 
 face, 
 And hold it o'er him blessing ; while the crowd, 
 As on the shore, in dumb abasement bowed. 
 And when the King had closed the formal rite, 
 The rest held savage revelry by night, 
 Round blazmg fires, with dance and orgies base, 
 That roused the sleeping echoes of the place. 
 Which down the forest vistas moaned the din, 
 Like spirits pure beholding impious sin. 
 
 Nine times they gathered thus ; but on the last 
 The old king's waning life seemed well-nigh past. 
 His feeble strength had failed : he walked no 
 
 more. 
 But on a woven spear-wood couch they bore 
 With careful tread the form that barely gasped, 
 As if the door of death nov hung unhasped. 
 Awaiting but a breath to swing, and show 
 The dim eternal plain that stretched below. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 35 
 
 The tenth year waned : the cloistered Lush was 
 
 stilled, 
 The earth lay sleeping, while the clouds distilled 
 In ghostly veil their blessing. Thin and white, 
 Through opening trees the moonbeams cleft the 
 
 night. 
 And showed the sombre arches, taller far 
 Than grandest aisles of built cathedrals are. 
 And up those dim-lit aisles in sUence streamed 
 Tall men with trailing spears, until it seemed, 
 So many lines converged of endless length, 
 A nation there was gathered in its strength. 
 
 Around one spot was kept a spacious ring, 
 Where lay the body of the white-haired King, 
 Which all the spearmen gathered to behold 
 Upon its spear-wood litter, stiff and cold. 
 All naked, there the dusky corse was laid 
 Beneath a royal tuad's mourning shade ; 
 Upon the breast was placed the carven case 
 That held the symbol of their ancient race, 
 
36 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And eyes awe-stricken saw the mystic Thing 
 That soon would clothe another as their King ! 
 The midnight moon was high and white o'erhead, 
 And threw a ghastly pallor round the dead 
 That heightened still the savage pomp and state 
 In which they stood expectant, as for Pate 
 To move and mark with undisputed hand 
 The one amongst them to the high command. 
 And long they stood unanswered ; each on each 
 Had looked in vain for motion or for speech : 
 Unmoved as ebon-statues, grand and tall, 
 They ringed the shadowy circle, silent all. 
 
 Then came a creeping tremor, as a breeze 
 With cooling rustle moves the summer trees 
 Before the thunder crashes on the ear ; 
 The dense ranks turn expectant, as they hear 
 A sound, at first atar, but nearing fast ; 
 The outer crowd divides, as waves are cast 
 On either side a tall ship's cleaving bow, 
 Or mould is parted by the fearless plough 
 That leaves behind a passage clear and broad : 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 37 
 
 So through, the murmuring multitude a road 
 Was cleft with power, up which in haughty swing 
 A figure stalking broke the sacred ring, 
 And stood beside the body of the King ! 
 
 'Twas Jacob Eibsen, sad and gloomy-browed, 
 Who bared his neck and breast, one moment 
 
 bowed 
 Above the corse, and then stood proud and tall. 
 And held the carven case before them all ! 
 A breath went upward like a smothered fright 
 From every heart, to see that face, so white. 
 So foreign to their own, but marked with might 
 From source unquestioned, and to them divine ; 
 Whilst he, the master of the mystic sign. 
 Then oped the case and took the Pearl and raised, 
 As erst the King had done, and upward gazed, 
 As swearing fealty to God on high ! 
 
 But ere the oath took form, there thrilled a cry 
 Of shivering horror through the hush of night ; 
 And there before him, blinded by the sight 
 
38 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Of all his impious purpose, brave with love, 
 His mother stood, arid stretched her arms above 
 To tear the idol from her darling's hand ; 
 But one fierce look, and rang a harsh command 
 In Jacob's voice, that smote her like a sword. 
 A thousand men sprang forward at the word, 
 To tear +^he mother from the form of stone. 
 And cast her forth ; but, as he stood alone. 
 The keen, heart-broken wail that cut the air 
 Went two-edged through him, half reproach, half 
 prayer. 
 
 But all unheeding, he nor marked her cry- 
 By sign or look within the gloomy eye ; 
 But round his body bound the carven case, 
 And swore the fealty with marble face. 
 
 As fades a dream before slow-waking sense, 
 The shadowy host, that late stood fixed and dense, 
 Began to melt ; and as they came erewhile, 
 The streams flowed backward through each moon- 
 lit aisle ; 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 39 
 
 And soon he stood alone within the place, 
 Their new-made king, — their king with pallid face, 
 Their king with strange foreboding and unrest, 
 And half-formed thoughts, like dreams, within his 
 
 breast. 
 Like Moses' rod, that mother's cry of woe 
 Had struck for water ; but the fitful flow 
 That weakly welled and streamed did seem to 
 
 mock 
 Before it died forever on the rock. 
 
 The sun rose o'er the forest, and his light 
 Made still more dreamlike all the evil night. 
 Day streamed his glory down the aisles' dim arch, 
 All hushed and shadowy like a pillared church ; 
 And through the lonely bush no living thing 
 Was seen, save now and then a garish wing 
 Of bird low-flying on its silent way. 
 
 But woful searchers spent the weary day 
 In anxious dread, and found not what they 
 sought, — 
 
40 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Their mother and their brother : evening brought 
 A son and father to the lonesome place 
 That saw the last night's scene ; and there, her face 
 Laid earthward, speaking dumbly to her heart, 
 They found her, as the hands that tore apart 
 The son and mother flung her from their chief. 
 And with one cry her heart had spent its grief. 
 
 They bore the cold earth that so late did move 
 
 In household happiness and works of love, 
 
 Unto their rude home, lonely now ; and he 
 
 Who laid her there, from present misery ' 
 
 Did turn away, half-blinded by his tears, 
 
 To see with inward eye the far-off years 
 
 "When Swedish toU was light and hedgerows 
 
 sweet ; 
 Where, when the toil was o'er, he used to meet 
 A simple gray-eyed girl, with sun-browned face. 
 Whose love had won his heart, and whose sweet 
 
 grace 
 Had blessed for threescore years his humble life. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 4 1 
 
 So Jacob Eibsen mourned his faithful wife, 
 
 And found the world no home when she was gone. 
 
 The days that seemed of old to hurry on 
 
 Now dragged their course, and marred the wish 
 
 that grew, 
 When first he saw her grave, to sleep there too. 
 But though to him, whose yearning hope outran 
 The steady motion of the seasons' plan, 
 The years were slow in coming, still their pace 
 With awful sureness left a solemn trace, 
 Like dust that settles on an open page, 
 On Jacob Eibsen's head, bent down with age ; 
 And ere twice more the soothing rains had come, 
 The old man had his wish, and to his home. 
 Beneath the strange trees' shadow where she lay. 
 They bore the rude-made bier ; and from that day, 
 When round the parent graves the brethren stood, 
 Their new-made homesteads were no longer good, 
 But marked they seemed by some o'erhanging 
 
 dread 
 That linked the living with the dreamless dead. 
 
42 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Grown silent with the woods the men were all, 
 But words were needed not to note the pall 
 That each one knew hung o'er them. Duties 
 
 now, 
 With straying herds or swinging scythe, or plough, 
 Were cheerless tasks : like men they were who 
 
 wrought 
 A weary toil that no repayment brought. 
 And when the seasons came and went, and still 
 The pall was hanging o'er them, with one will 
 They yoked their oxen teams and piled the loads 
 Of gear selected for the aimless roads 
 That nature opens through the bush ; and when 
 The train was ready, women -folk and men 
 Went over to the graves and wept and prayed, 
 Then rose and turned away, but still delayed 
 Ere leaving there forever those poor mounds. 
 
 The next bright sunrise heard 'the teamsters' 
 
 sounds 
 Of voice and whip a long day's march awaj' ; 
 And wider still the space grew dayJby day 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 43 
 
 From their old resting-place : the trackless wood 
 Still led them on with promises of good, 
 As when the mirage leads a thirsty band 
 With palm-tree visions o'er the arid sand. 
 
 I know not where they settled down at last : 
 Their lives and homes from out my tale have 
 
 passed, 
 And left me naught, or seeming naught, to trace 
 But cheerless record of the empty place, 
 Where long unseen the palm-thatched cabins stood, 
 And made more lonely still the lonesome wood. 
 
 Long lives of men passed over ; but the years. 
 That line men's faces with hard cares and tears. 
 Pass lightly o'er a forest, leaving there 
 No wreck of young disease or old despair ; 
 For trees are mightier than men, and Time, 
 When left by cunning Sin and dark-browed 
 
 Crime 
 To work alone, hath ever gentle mood. 
 Unchanged the pillars and the arches stood, 
 
^!4 sojvgs from the southern seas. 
 
 But shadowed taller vistas ; and the earth, 
 That takes and gives the ceaseless death and birth, 
 Was blooming still, as once it bloomed before 
 When sea-tired eyes beheld the beauteous shore. 
 
 But man's best work is weak, nor stands nor 
 
 grows 
 Like Nature's simplest. Every breeze that blows, 
 Health-bearing to the forest, plays its part 
 In hasting graveward all his humble art. 
 
 Beneath the trees the cabins still remained, 
 By all the changing seasons seared and stained ; 
 Grown old and weirdlike, as the folk might grow 
 In such a place, who left them long ago. 
 
 Men came, and wondering found the work of 
 
 men 
 Where they had deemed them first. The savage 
 
 then 
 Heard through the wood the axe's deathwatch 
 
 stroke 
 For him and all his people : odorous smoke 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 45 
 
 Of burning sandal rose where white men dwelt, 
 
 Around the huts ; but they had shuddering felt 
 
 The weird, forbidden aspect of the spot, 
 
 And left the place untouched to mould and rot. 
 
 The woods grew blithe with labor : all around, 
 
 From point to point, was heard the hollow sound, 
 
 The solemn, far-off clicking on the ear 
 
 That marks the presence of the pioneer. 
 
 And children, came like flowers to bless the toil 
 
 That reaped rich fruitage from the virgin soil ; 
 
 And through the woods they wandered fresh and 
 
 fair, 
 To feast on all the beauties blooming there. 
 But always did they shun the spot where grew. 
 From earth once tilled, the flowers of rarest hue. 
 There wheat grown wild in rank luxuriance 
 
 spread. 
 And fruits grown native ; but a sudden tread 
 Or bramble's fall would foul goanos wake. 
 Or start the chilling rustle of the snake ; 
 And diamond eyes of these and thousand more, ' 
 Gleamed out from ruined roof and wall and floor. 
 
46 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The new-come people, they whose axes rung 
 Throughout the forest, spoke the English tongue, 
 And never knew that men of other race 
 From Europe's fields had settled in the place ; 
 But deemed these huts were built some long-past 
 
 day 
 By lonely seamen who were cast away 
 And thrown upon the coast, who there had built 
 Their homes, and lived until some woe or guilt 
 Was bred among them, and they fled the sight 
 Of scenes that held a horror to the light. 
 
 But while they thought such things, the spell that 
 
 hung. 
 And cast its shadow o'er the place, was strung 
 To utmost tension that a breath would break, 
 And show between the rifts the deep blue lake 
 Of blessed peace, — as next to sorrow lies 
 A stretch of rest, rewarding hopeful eyes. 
 And while such things bethought this new-come 
 
 folk. 
 That breath was breathed, the olden spell was 
 
 broke : 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 47 
 
 From far away ■within the unknown land, 
 O'er belts of forest and o'er wastes of sand, 
 A cry came thrilling, like a cry of pain 
 From suffering heart and half-awakened brain ; 
 As one thought dead who wakes within the tomb. 
 And, reaching, cries for sunshine in the gloom. 
 
 In that strange country's heart, whence comes the 
 
 breath 
 Of hot disease and pestilential death, 
 Lie leagues of wooded swamp, that from the hills 
 Seem stretching meadows ; but the flood that fills 
 Those valley-basins has the hue of ink. 
 And dismal doorways open on the brink. 
 Beneath the gnarled arms of trees that grow 
 All leafless to the top, from roots below 
 The Lethe flood ; and he who enters there 
 Beneath their screen sees rising, ghastly-bare, 
 Like mammoth bones within a charnel dark. 
 The white and ragged stems of paper-bark, 
 That drip down moisture with a ceaseless drip, 
 From lines that run like cordage of a ship ; 
 
48 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 For myriad creepers struggle to the light, 
 
 .And twine and mat o'erhead in murderous 
 
 fight 
 For life and sunshine, like another race 
 That wars on brethren for the highest place. 
 Between the water and the matted screen, 
 The baldhead vultures, two and two, are seen 
 In dismal grandeur, with revolting face 
 Of foul grotesque, like spirits of the place ; 
 And now and then a spear-shaped wave goes by, 
 Its apex glittering with an evil eye 
 That sets above its enemy and prey, 
 As from the Avave in treacherous, slimy way 
 The black snake winds, and strikes the bestial bird. 
 Whose shriek-like wailing on the hills is heard. 
 
 Beyond this circling swamp, a circling waste 
 Of baked and barren desert land is placed, — 
 A land of awful grayness, wild and stark. 
 Where man will never leave a deeper mark. 
 On leagues of fissured clay and scorching stones, 
 Than may be printed there by bleaching bones. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 49 
 
 Within this belt, that keeps a savage guard, 
 As round a treasure sleeps a dragon ward, 
 A forest stretches far of precious trees ; 
 Whence came, one day, an odor-laden breeze 
 Of jam-wood bruised, and sandal sweet in smoke. 
 For there long dwelt a numerous native folk 
 In that heart-garden of the continent, — 
 There human lives with aims and fears were 
 
 spent, ^-^ — 
 
 And marked by love and hate and peace and pain. 
 And hearts well-filled and hearts athirst for gain, 
 And lips that clung, and faces bowed in shame ; 
 For, wild or polished, man is still the same. 
 And loves and hates and envies in the wood. 
 With spear and boka and with manners rude, 
 As loves and hates his brother shorn and sleek, 
 Who learns by lifelong practice how to speak 
 With oily tongue, while in his heart below 
 Lies rankling i^oison that he dare not show. 
 
 Afar from all new ways this people "^dwelt. 
 And knew no books, and to no God had knelt, 
 
 3 
 
50 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And had no codes to rule them writ in blood ; 
 But savage, selfish, nomad-lived and rude, 
 With human passions fierce from unrestraint, 
 And free as their loose limbs ; with eVery tamt 
 That earth can give to that which God has given ; 
 Their nearest glimpse of Him, o'er-arching heaven, 
 Where dwelt the giver and preserver, — Light, 
 Who daily slew and still was slain by Night. 
 
 A savage people they, and prone to strife ; 
 •Yet men grown weak with years had spent a life 
 Of peace unbroken, and their sires, long dead, 
 Had equal lives of peace unbroken led. 
 It was no statute's bond or coward fear 
 Of retribution kept the shivering spear 
 In all those years from fratricidal sheath ; 
 But one it was who ruled them, — one whom 
 
 Death 
 Had passed as if he saw not, — one whose word 
 Through all that lovely central land was heard 
 And boAved to, as of yore the people bent, 
 In desert wanderings, to a leader sent 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 51 
 
 To guide and guard tliem to a promised land. 
 O'er all the Austral tribes lie held command, — 
 A man unlike them and not of their race-, 
 A man of flowing hair and pallid face, 
 A man who strove by no deft juggler's art 
 To keep his kingdom in the people's heart, 
 Nor held his place by feats of brutal might 
 Or showy skill, to please the savage sight ; 
 But one who ruled them as a King of kings, 
 A man above, not of them, — one who brings, 
 To prove his kingship to the low and high, 
 The inborn power of the regal eye ! 
 
 Like him of Sinai with the stones of law. 
 
 Whose people almost worshipped when they saw 
 
 The veiled face whereon God's glory burned ; 
 
 But yet who, mutable as water, turned 
 
 From that veiled ruler who had talked with God, 
 
 To make themselves an idol from a clod : 
 
 So turned one day this savage Austral race 
 
 Against their monarch with the pallid face. 
 
 The young men knew him not, the old had heard 
 
 In far-off days, from men grown old, a word 
 
52 solves FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 That dimly lighted up the mystic choice 
 Of this their alien King, — how once a voice 
 Was heard by their own monarch calling clear, 
 And leading onward, where as on a bier 
 A dead child lay upon a woman's knees ; 
 Whom when the old King saw, like one who sees 
 Far through the mist of common life, he spoke 
 And touched him with the Pearl, and he awoke, 
 And from that day the people owned his right 
 To wear the Pearl and rule them, when the light 
 Had left their old King's eyes. But now, they said, 
 The men who owned that right were too long 
 
 dead ; 
 And they were young and strong and held their 
 
 spears 
 In idle resting through this white King's fears, 
 Who still would live to rule them till they changed 
 Their men tp puling women, and estranged 
 To Austral hands the spear and coila grew. 
 
 And so they rose against liim, and they slew 
 The white-haired men who raised their hands to 
 warn. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 53 
 
 And true to ancient trust in warning fell, 
 While O'er tliem rang the fierce revolters' yell. 
 Then midst the dead uprose the King in scorn, 
 Like some strong, hunted thing that stands at 
 
 bay 
 To win a brief but desperate delay. 
 A moment thus, and those within the ring 
 'Gan backward press from their unarmed King, 
 Who swept his hand as though he bade them fly, 
 And brave no more the anger of his eye. 
 The heaying crowd grew still before that face, 
 And watched him take the ancient carven case. 
 And ope it there, and take the Pearl and stand 
 As once before he stood, with upraised hand 
 And upturned eyes of inward worshippiug. 
 
 Awe-struck and dumb, once more they owned him 
 
 King, 
 And humbly crouched before him ; when a sound, 
 A whirring sound that thrilled them, passed o'er- 
 
 head. 
 And with a spring they rose : a spear had sped 
 
54 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 With aim unerring and with deathful might, 
 And split tlie awful centre of their sight, — 
 The upraised Pearl ! A moment there it shone 
 Before the spear-point, — then forever gone ! 
 
 The spell that long the ruined huts did shroud 
 
 Was rent and scattered, as a hangmg cloud 
 
 In moveless air is torn and blown away 
 
 By sudden gust uprising ; and one day 
 
 When evening's lengthened shadows came to hush 
 
 The children's voices, and the awful bush 
 
 Was lapt in sombre stillness, and on high 
 
 Above the arches stretched the frescoed sky, — 
 
 When all the scene such chilling aspect wore 
 
 As marked one other night long years before, 
 
 When through the reaching trees the moonlight 
 
 shone 
 Upon a prostrate form, and o'er it one 
 With kingly gesture. Now the light is shed 
 No more on youthful brow and daring head, 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 55 
 
 But on a man grown weirdly old, whose face 
 
 Keeps turning ever to some new-found place 
 
 That rises up before him like a dream ; 
 
 And not unlike a dreamer does he seem, 
 
 Who might have slept, unheeding time's sure 
 
 flow, 
 And woke to find a world he does not know. 
 His long white hair flows o'er a form low bowed 
 By wondrous weight of years : he speaks aloud 
 In garbled Swedish words, with piteous wist, 
 As longrlost objects rise through memory's mist. 
 Again and once again his pace he stays, 
 As crowding images of other days 
 Loom up before him dimly, and he sees 
 A vague, forgotten friendship in the trees 
 That reach their arms in welcome ; but agen 
 These olden glimpses vanish, and dark men 
 Are round him, dumb and crouching, and he 
 
 stands 
 With guttural sentences and upraised hands, 
 That hold a carven case, — but empty now. 
 Which makes more pitiful the aged brow 
 
56 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Full-turned to tliose tall tuads that did hear 
 A son's fierce mandate and a mother's prayer. 
 
 Ah, God ! what memories can live of these, 
 Save only with the half-immortal trees 
 That saw the death of one, the other lost ? 
 
 The weird-like figure now the bush has crost 
 And stands within the ring, and turns and moans, 
 With arms out-reaching and heart-piercing tones, 
 And groping hands, as one a long time blind 
 Who sees a glimmering light on eye and mind. 
 From tree to sky he turns, from sky to earth, 
 And gasps as one to whom a second bh^th 
 Of wondrous meaning is an instant shown. 
 
 Who is this wreck of years, who all alone, 
 In savage raiment and with words unknown, 
 Bows down like some poor penitent who fears 
 The wrath of God provoked ? — this man who hears 
 Around him now, wide circling through the wood, 
 The breathing stillness of a multitude ? 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 57 
 
 Who catches dimly through his straining sight 
 The misty vision of an impious rite ? 
 Who hears from one a cry that rends his heart, 
 And feels that loving arms are torn apart, 
 And by his mandate fiercely thrust aside ? 
 Who is this one who crouches where she died, 
 With face laid earthward as her face was laid. 
 And prays for her as she for him once prayed ? 
 
 'Tis Jacob Eibsen, Jacob Eibsen's son, 
 Whose occult life and mystic rule are done, 
 And passed away the memory from his brain. 
 'Tis Jacob Eibsen, who has come again 
 To roam the woods, and see the mournful gleams 
 That flash and linger of his old-time dreams. 
 
 The morning found him where he sank to rest 
 Within the mystic circle : on his breast 
 With withered hands, as to the dearest place. 
 He held and pressed the empty carven case. 
 
 That day he sought the dwellings of his folk ; 
 And when he found them, once again there broke 
 
 3* 
 
$8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The far-off light upon him, and he cried 
 From that wrecked cabin threshold for a guide 
 To lead him, old and weary, to his own. 
 And surely some kind spirit heard his moan, 
 And led him to the graves where they were laid. 
 The evening found hitn in the tuads' shade, 
 And like a child at work upon the spot 
 Where they were sleeping, though he knew it not. 
 
 Next day the children found him, and they gazed 
 
 In fear at first, for they were sore amazed 
 
 To see a man so old they never knew, 
 
 Whose garb was savage, and whose white hair 
 
 grew 
 And flowed upon his shoulders ; but their awe 
 Was changed to love and pity when they saw 
 The simple work he wrought at ; and they came 
 And gathered flowers for him, and asked his 
 
 name, 
 And laughed at his strange language ; and he 
 
 smiled 
 To hear them laugh, as though himself a child. 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 59 
 
 Ere that brief day was o'er, from far and near 
 The children gathered, wondering; and though 
 
 fear 
 Of scenes a long time shunned at first restrained, 
 The spell was broken, and soon naught remained 
 But gladsome features, where of old was dearth 
 Of happy things and cheery sounds of mii'th. 
 The lizards fled, the snakes and bright-eyed things 
 Found other homes, where childhood never sings ; 
 And all because poor Jacob, old and wild. 
 White-haired and fur-clad, was himself a cliild. 
 Each day he lived amid these scenes, his ear 
 Heard far-off voices growing still more clear ; 
 And that dim light that first he saw in gleams 
 Now left him only in his troubled dreams. 
 
 From far away the children loved to come 
 And play and work with Jacob at his home. 
 He learned their simple words with childish lip, 
 And told them often of a white-sailed ship 
 That sailed across a mighty sea, and found 
 A beauteous harbor, all encircled round 
 
6o SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 With flowers and tall green trees; bat when they 
 
 asked 
 What did the shipmen then, his mind was tasked 
 Beyond its strength, and Jacob shook his head, 
 And with them laughed, for all he knew was said. 
 
 The brawny sawyers often ceased their toil, 
 As Jacob with the children passed, to smile 
 With rugged pity on their simple play ; 
 Then, gazing after the glad group, would say 
 How strange it was to see that snowy hair 
 And time-worn figure with the children fair. 
 
 So Jacob Eibsen lived through years of joy, — 
 A patriarch in age, in heart a boy. 
 Unto the last he told them of the sea 
 And white-sailed ship ; and ever lovingly, 
 Unto the end, the garden he had made 
 He tended daily, 'neath the tuads' shade. 
 
 But one bright morning, when the children came 
 And roused the echoes calling Jacob's name, 
 
THE KING OF THE VASSE. 6 1 
 
 The echoes only answered back the sound. 
 
 They sought within the huts, but nothing found 
 
 Save loneliness and shadow, falling chill 
 
 On every sunny searcher : boding ill, 
 
 They tried each well-known haunt, and every 
 
 throat 
 Sent far abroad the bushman's cooing note. 
 But all in vain their searching : twilight fell, 
 And sent them home their sorrowing tale to tell. 
 That night their elders formed a torch-lit chain 
 To sweep the gloomy bush ; and not in vain, — 
 For when the moon at midnight hung o'erhead, 
 The weary searchers found poor Jacob — dead ! 
 
 He lay within the tuad ring, his face 
 Laid earthward on his hands ; and all the place 
 Was dim with shadow where the people stood. 
 And as they gathered there, the circling wood 
 Seemed filled with awful whisperings, and stirred 
 By things unseen ; and every bushman heard, 
 From where the corse lay plain within their sight, 
 A woman's heart- wail rising on the night. 
 
62 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 For over all the darkness and the fear 
 
 That marked his life from childhood, shining clear, 
 
 An arch, like God's bright rainbow, stretched 
 
 above, 
 And joined the first and last, — his mother's love. 
 
 They dug a grave beneath the tuads' shade, 
 Where all unknown to them the bones were laid 
 Of Jacob's kindred ; and a prayer was said 
 In earnest sorrow for the unknown dead, 
 Round which the children grouped. 
 
 Upon the breast 
 The hands were folded in eternal rest ; 
 But still they held, as dearest to that place 
 Where life last throbbed, the empty carven case. 
 
THE DOG GUARD. 
 
Nation of sun and sin, 
 Thy flowers and crimes are red, 
 And thy heart is sore ivithin 
 While the glory crovms thy head. 
 Land of the songless birds. 
 What was thine ancient crime. 
 Burning through lapse of time 
 Like a prophet 's cursing words ? 
 
 Aloes and myrrh and tears ■ 
 Mix in thy bitter wine : 
 Drink, while the cup is thine. 
 Drink, for the draught is sign 
 Of thy reign in the coming years. 
 
65 
 
 THE DOG GUARD: AN" AUSTRALIAN 
 STORY. 
 
 'T^HERE are lonesome places upon the earth 
 
 That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth, 
 Where the spirits abide that feast and quaff 
 On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh, 
 And take grim delight in the fearful start, 
 As their unseen fingers clutch the heart, 
 And the blood flies out from the griping pain, 
 To carry the chill through every vein ; 
 And the staring eyes and the whitened faces 
 Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places. 
 
 But of all the spots on this earthly sphere 
 Where these dismal spirits are strong and near. 
 There is one more dreary than all the rest, — 
 'Tis the barren island of Rottenest. 
 On Australia's western coast, you may — 
 On a seaman's cliart of Fremantle Bay — , 
 
66 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore : 
 If the chart be good, there is something more, — 
 For a shoal runs in on the landward side, 
 With five fathoms marked for the highest tide. 
 You have nought but my word for all the rest. 
 But that speck is the island of Rottenest. 
 
 'Tis a white sand-heap, about two miles long, 
 And say half as wide ; but the deeds of wrong 
 Between man and his brother that there took place 
 Are sufficient to sully a continent's face. 
 Ah, cruel tales ! were they told as a whole, 
 They would scare your polished humanity's soul ; 
 They would blanch the cheeks in your carpeted 
 
 room. 
 With a terrible thought of the merited doom 
 For the crimes committed, still unredrest. 
 On that white sand-heap called Rottenest. 
 
 Of late years the island is not so bare 
 
 As it was when I saw it first ; for there 
 
 On the outer headland some buildings stand. 
 
THE DOG GUARD. 67 
 
 And a flag, red-crossed, says tlie patcli of sand 
 Is a recognized part of the wide domain 
 That is blessed with the peace of Victoria's reign. 
 But behind the lighthouse the land 's the same, 
 And it bears grim proof of the white man's shame ; 
 For the miniature vales that the island owns 
 Have a horrible harvest of human bones ! 
 
 And how did they come there ? that 's the word ; 
 And I '11 answer it now with the tale I heard 
 From the lips of a man who was there, and saw 
 The bad end of man's greed and of colony law. 
 
 Many years ago, when the white man first 
 Set his foot on the coast, and was hated and cursed 
 By the native, who had not yet learned to fear 
 The dark wrath of the stranger, but drove his spear 
 With a freeman's force and a bushman's yell 
 At the white invader, it then befell 
 That so many were killed and cooked and eaten, 
 There was risk of the whites in the end being 
 beaten \ 
 
68 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 So a plan was proposed, — 'twas deemed safest arid 
 
 best 
 To imprison the natives in Rottenest. 
 
 And so every time there was white blood spilled, 
 There were black men captured; and those not 
 
 killed 
 In the rage of vengeance were sent away 
 To this bleak sand isle in Fremantle Bay ; 
 And it soon came round that a thousand men 
 Were together there, like wild beasts in a pen. 
 There was not a shrub or grass-blade in the sand, 
 Nor a piece of timber as large as your hand ; 
 But a government boat went out each day 
 To fling meat ashore — and then sailed away. 
 
 For a year or so was this course pursued, 
 
 Till 'twas noticed that fewer came down for food 
 
 When the boat appeared ; then a guard lay round 
 
 The island one night, and the white men found 
 
 That the savages swam at the lowest tide 
 
 To the shoal that lay on the landward side, — 
 
THE DOG GUARD, 69 
 
 'Twas a mile from the beacli, — and then waded 
 
 ashore ; 
 So the settlers met in grave council once more. 
 
 That a guard was needed was plain to all ; 
 
 But nobody answered the Governor's call 
 
 For a volunteer watch. They were only a few, 
 
 And their wild young farms gave plenty to do ; 
 
 And the council of settlers was breaking up, 
 
 With a dread of the sorrow they 'd have to sup - 
 
 When the savage, unawed, and for vengeance wild, 
 
 Lay await in the wood for the mother and child. 
 
 And with doleful countenance each to his neighbor 
 
 Told a dreary tale of the world of labor 
 
 He had, and said, " Let him watch who can, 
 
 I can't ; " when there stepped to the front a 
 
 man 
 With a hard brown face and a burglar's brow. 
 Who had learned the secret he uttered now 
 When he served in the chain-gang in New South 
 
 Wales. 
 And he said to them : " Friends, as all else fails, 
 
yo SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 These 'ere natives are safe as if locked and barred, 
 If you '11 line that shoal with a mastiff guard ! " 
 
 And the settlers looked at each other awhile, 
 Till the wonder toned to a well-pleased smile 
 When the brown ex-burglar said he knew, 
 And Avould show the whole of 'em Avhat to do. 
 
 Some tliree weeks after, the guard was set ; 
 
 And a native who swam to the shoal was met 
 
 Bj two half-starved dogs, when a mile from 
 
 shore, — 
 And, somehow, that native was never seen more. 
 All the settlers were pleased with the capital plan, 
 And they voted their thanks to the hard-faced 
 
 man. 
 For a year, each day did the government boat 
 Take the meat to the isle and its guard afloat. 
 In a line, on the face of the shoal, the dogs 
 Had a dry house each, on some anchored logs ; 
 And the neck-chain from each stretched just half 
 
 way 
 
THE DOG GUARD. 7 1 
 
 To tlie next dog's house ; right across the Bay 
 Ran a hne that was hideous with horrid sounds 
 From the hungry throats of two hundred hounds. 
 
 So one more year passed, and the brutes on the logs 
 Had grown more like devils than common dogs. 
 There was such a hell-chorus by day and night 
 That the settlers ashore were chilled with fright 
 When they thought — if that legion should break 
 
 away, 
 And come in with the tide some fatal day ! 
 
 But they 'scaped that chance ; for a man came in 
 From the Bush, one day, with a 'possum's skin 
 To the throat filled up with large pearls he 'd found 
 To the north, on the shore of the Shark's Bay 
 
 Sound. 
 And the settlement blazed with a wild commotion 
 At sight of the gems from the wealthy ocean. 
 
 Then the settlers all began to pack 
 
 Their tools and tents, and to ask the track 
 
72 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 That the bushman followed to strike the spot, — 
 
 While the dogs and natives were all forgot. 
 
 In two days, from that camp on the River Swan, 
 
 To the Shark's Bay Sound had the settlers gone ; 
 
 And no merciful feeling did one retard 
 
 For the helpless men and their terrible guard. 
 
 It were vain to try, in my quiet room. 
 To write down the truth of the awful doom 
 That befell those savages prisoned there, 
 When the pangs of hunger and wild despair 
 Had nigh made them mad as the fiends outside : 
 'Tis enough that one night, through the low ebb 
 
 tide. 
 Swam nine hundred savages, armed with stones 
 And with weapons made from their dead friends' 
 
 bones. 
 Without ripple or sound, when the moon was gone. 
 Through the inky water they glided on ; 
 Swimming deep, and scarce daring to draw a breath, 
 While the guards, if they saw, were as dumb as 
 
 death. 
 
THE DOG GUARD. 73 
 
 'Twas a terrible picture ! O God ! tliat the night 
 Were so black as to cover the horrid sight 
 From the eyes of the Angel that notes man's ways 
 In the book that will ope on the Day of Days ! 
 
 There were screams when they met, — shrill screams 
 
 of pain ! 
 For each animal swam at the length of his chain, 
 And with parching throat and in furious mood 
 Lay awaiting, not men, but his coming food. 
 There were short, sharp cries, and a line of fleck 
 As the long fangs sank in the swimmer's neck ; 
 There were gurgling growls mixed with human 
 
 groans. 
 For the savages drave the sharpened bones 
 Through their enemies' ribs, and the bodies sank. 
 Each dog holding fast with a bone through his flank. 
 
 Then those of the natives who 'scaped swam back; 
 But too late ! for scores of the savage pack. 
 Driven mad by the yells and the sounds of fight, 
 Had broke loose and followed. On that dread night 
 
 4 
 
74 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Let the curtain fall : when the red sun rose 
 From the placid ocean, the joys and woes 
 Of a thousand men he had last eve seen 
 Were as things or thoughts that had never been. 
 
 When the settlers returned, — in a month or two, — 
 
 They bethought of the dogs and the prisoned crew. 
 
 And a boat went out on a tardy quest 
 
 Of whatever was living on Rottenest. 
 
 They searched all the isle, and sailed back agen 
 
 With some specimen bones of the dogs and men. 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 
 
Though it lash the shalloios that line the beach. 
 
 Afar from the great sea deeps, 
 TJiere is never a storm ivhose might caii reach 
 
 Where the vast leviathan sleeps. 
 Like a mighty thought in a giant mind. 
 
 In the clear, cold depths he swims ; 
 Whilst above him the j^ettiest form of his kind 
 
 With a dash o'^er the surface skims. 
 
 There is peace in power : the men loho speal 
 
 With the loudest tongues do least ; 
 And the surest sign of a viind that is weak 
 
 Is its want of the power to rest. 
 It is only the lighter water that flies 
 
 From the sea on a icindy day ; 
 And the deep blue ocean never replies 
 
 To the sibilant voice of the spray. 
 
77 
 
 THE AMBER WHALE: A HARPOONEE^'S 
 STORY. 
 
 [Whalemen have a strange belief as to the formation of amber. They 
 Bay that it is a petrifaction of some internal part of a whale ; and they tell 
 ■weird stories of enormous whales seen in the warm latitudes, that were 
 almost entirely transformed into the precious substance.] 
 
 "XT ?"£ were down in the Indian Ocean, after 
 sperm, and three years out ; 
 
 The last six months in the tropics, and looking 
 in vain for a spout, — 
 
 Five men up on the royal yards, weary of strain- 
 ing their sight ; 
 
 And every day like its brother, — just morning and 
 noon and night — 
 
 Nothing to break the sameness : water and wind 
 and sun 
 
 Motionless, gentle, and blazing, — never a change 
 in one. 
 
78 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Every day like its brother : when the noonday 
 
 eight-bells came, 
 'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know 
 
 that to-morrow would be the same. 
 The foremast hands had a lazy time : there was 
 
 never a thing to do ; 
 The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped ; 
 
 and the mates had nothing new. 
 We 'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't 
 
 a yarn to use, 
 And all we could do was watch and pray for a 
 
 sperm whale's spout — or news. 
 It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort ; and, though 
 
 many a volunteer 
 Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a 
 
 whale came near, — 
 At least of the kind we wanted : there were lots 
 
 of whales of a sort, — 
 Kniers and finbacks, and such like, as if they 
 
 enjoyed the sport 
 Of seeing a whale-ship idle ; but we never lowered 
 
 a boat 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 79 
 
 For less than a blackfish, — there's no oil in a 
 
 killer's or finback's coat. 
 There was rich reward for the look-out men, — 
 
 tobacco for even a sail, 
 And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who 'd be 
 
 first to "raise" a whale. 
 The crew was a mixture from every land, and many 
 
 a tongue they spoke ; 
 And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an 
 
 evening smoke, 
 There were tales told, youngster, would make you 
 
 stare, — stories of countless shoals 
 Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away 
 
 at the Poles. 
 There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we 
 
 always loved to hear, — 
 Kanaka and Maori and Yankee ; all lent an eager 
 
 ear 
 To that strange old tale that was always new, — 
 
 the wonderful treasure-tale 
 Of an old Down -Eastern harpooneer who had 
 
 struck an Amber Whale! 
 
8o SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad : if 'twas 
 
 true we couldn't say. 
 Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the 
 
 time away. 
 
 " It 's just fifteen years ago," said Mat, " since I 
 
 shipped as harpooneer 
 On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruis- 
 ing somewhere near 
 To this whaling-ground we 're cruising now ; but 
 
 whales were plenty then. 
 And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay 
 
 for the ship and men. 
 There were none of these oil wells running then, — 
 
 at least, what shore folk term 
 An oil well in Pennsylvania, — but sulphur-bottom 
 
 and sperm 
 Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole,.and all of 'em 
 
 big "vyhales, too ; 
 One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for 
 
 sulphur-bottom, two. 
 You couldn't pick out a small one : the littlest 
 
 calf or cow 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 8 1 
 
 Had a siglit more oil than the big bull whales we 
 think so much of now. 
 
 We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a httle 
 below the mouth, — 
 
 A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine de- 
 grees to the south ; 
 
 And that was as good a whaling-ground for mid- 
 dling-sized, handy whales 
 
 As any in all the ocean ; and 'twas always white 
 with sails 
 
 From Scotland and Hull and New England, — for 
 the whales were thick as frogs. 
 
 And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they 
 lay as quiet as logs. 
 
 And every night we 'd go visiting the other whale- 
 ships 'round, 
 
 Or p'r'aps we 'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off 
 the Straits, and bound 
 
 To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps 
 to sell 
 
 For a few whale's teeth or a gallon of oil, and the 
 
 latest news to tell. 
 4* 
 
82 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And in every ship of that whaling fleet was one 
 
 wonderful story told, — • 
 How an Amber Whale had been seen that year 
 
 that was worth a mint of gold. 
 And one man — mate of a Scotchman — said he 'd 
 
 seen, away to the west, 
 A big school of sperm, and one whale's spout was 
 
 twice as high as the rest ; 
 And we knew that that was the Amber Whale, for 
 
 we 'd often heard before 
 That his spout was twice as thick as the rest, and 
 
 a hundred feet high or more. 
 And often, when the look-out cried, ' He blows ! ' 
 
 the very hail 
 Thrilled every heart with the greed of gold, — for 
 
 we thouQ-ht of the Amber Whale. 
 
 "-But never a sight of his spout we saw till the sea- 
 son there went round. 
 
 And the ships ran down to the south'ard to an- 
 other whaling-ground. 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 83 
 
 We stayed to the last off Java, and then we ran 
 
 to tlie west, 
 To get our recruits at Mauritius, and give the crew 
 
 a rest. 
 Five days we ran in the trade winds, and the boys 
 
 were beginning to talk 
 Of their time ashore, and whether they 'd have a 
 
 donkey-ride or a walk, 
 And whether they 'd spend their money in wine, 
 
 bananas, or pearls, 
 Or drive to the sugar plantations to dance with the 
 ' Creole girls. 
 But they soon got something to talk about. Five 
 
 days we ran west-sou'-west, 
 But the sixth day's log-book entry was a change 
 
 from all the rest ; 
 For that was the day the mast-head men made 
 
 every face turn pale, 
 With the cry that we all had dreamt about, — ' He 
 
 Blows ! the Ambee, Whale ! ' 
 
84 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 " And every man was motionless, and every speak- 
 er's lip 
 
 Just stopped as it was, with the word half -said : 
 there wasn't a sound in the ship 
 
 Till the Captain hailed the masthead, ' Whereaway 
 is the whale you see ? ' 
 
 And the cry came down again, ' He blows ! about 
 four points on our lee. 
 
 And three miles off, sir, — there he blows ! he 's 
 going to leeward fast ! ' 
 
 And then we sprang to the rigging, and saw the 
 great whale at last! 
 
 " Ah ! shipmates, that was a sight to see : the water 
 
 was smooth as a lake. 
 And there was the monster rolling, with a school of 
 
 whales in his wake. 
 They looked Hke pilot-fish round a shark, as if they 
 
 were keeping guard ; 
 And, shipmates, the s]oout of that Amber Whale 
 
 was high as a sky-sail yard. 
 There was never a ship's crew worked so quick as 
 
 our whalemen worked that day, — 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. ^^i^ 
 
 When tlie captain sliouted, ' Swing tlie boats, and 
 
 be ready to lower away ! ' 
 Then, ' A pull on the weather-braces, men ! let her 
 
 head fall off three points ! ' 
 And off she swung, with a quarter-breeze straining 
 
 the old ship's joints. 
 The men came down from the mastheads ; and the 
 
 boats' crews stood on the rail. 
 Stowing the lines and irons, and fixing paddles and 
 
 sail. 
 And when all was ready we leant on the boats and 
 
 looked at the Amber's spout, 
 That went up like a monster fountain, with a sort 
 
 of a rumbhng shout. 
 Like a thousand railroad engines puffing away their 
 
 smoke. 
 He was just like a frigate's hull capsized, and the 
 
 swaying water broke 
 Against the sides of the great stiff whale : he was 
 
 steering south-by-west, — 
 For the Cape, no doubt, for a whale can shape a 
 
 course as well as the best. 
 
S6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 We soon got close as was right to go ; for the school 
 
 might hear a hail, 
 Or see the bark, and that was the last of our Bank- 
 
 of-England Whale. 
 ' Let her luff,' said the Old Man, gently. ' Now, 
 
 lower away, my boys, 
 And pull for a mile, then paddle, — and mind that 
 
 you make no noise.' 
 
 " A minute more, and the boats were down ; and 
 
 out from the hull of the bark 
 They shot with a nervous sweep of the oars, like 
 
 dolphins away from a shark. 
 Each officer stood in the stern, and watched, as he 
 
 held the steering oar, 
 And the crews bent down to their pulling as they 
 
 never pulled before. 
 
 " Our Mate was as thorough a whaleman as I ever 
 
 met afloat ; 
 And I was his harpooneer that day, and sat in the 
 
 bow of the boat. 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 8'J 
 
 His eyes were set on tlie whales ahead, and lie spoke 
 
 in a low, deep tone, 
 And told tlie men to be steady and cool, and tlie 
 
 whale was all our own. 
 And steady and cool they proved to be : you could 
 
 read it in every face, 
 And in every straining muscle, that they meant to 
 
 win that race. 
 ' Bend to it, boys, for a few strokes more, — bend to 
 
 it steady and long ! 
 Now, in with your oars, and paddles out, — all 
 
 together, and strong ! ' 
 Then we turned and sat on the gunwale, with our 
 
 faces to the bow ; 
 And the whales were right ahead, — no more than 
 
 four ships' lengths off now. 
 There were five of 'em, hundred-barrellers, like 
 
 guards round the Amber "Whale. 
 And to strike him we 'd have to risk being stove by 
 
 crossing a sweeping tail ; 
 But the prize and the risk were equal. ' Mat,' now 
 
 whispers the Mate, 
 
88 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 ' Are your irons ready ? ' ' Ay, ay, sir.' ' Stand up, 
 
 then, steady, and wait 
 Till I give the word, then let 'em fly, and hit him 
 
 below the fin 
 As he rolls to wind'ard. Start her, boys ! now 's 
 
 the time to slide her in ! 
 Hurrah ! that fluke just missed us. Mind, as soon 
 
 as the iron 's fast, 
 Be ready to back your paddles, — now in for it, boys, 
 
 at last. 
 Heave ! Again ! ' 
 
 " And two u'ons flew : the fiirst one sank 
 
 in the joint, 
 'Tween the head and ^ump, — in the muscle ; but 
 
 the second had its point . 
 Turned off by striking the amber case, coming out 
 
 again like a bow. 
 And the monster carcass quivered, and rolled with 
 
 pain from the first deep blow. 
 Then he lashed the sea with his terrible flukes, and 
 
 showed us many a sign 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 89 
 
 That his rage was roused. 'Lay off,' roared the 
 
 Mate, ' and all keep clear of the line ! ' 
 And that was a timely warning, for the whale made 
 
 an awful breach 
 Right out of the sea ; and 'twas well for us that the 
 
 boat was beyond the reach 
 Of his sweeping flukes, as he milled around, and 
 
 made for the Captain's boat, 
 That was right astern. And, shipmates, then my 
 
 heart swelled up in my throat 
 At the sight I saw : the Amber Whale was lash- 
 ing the sea with rage. 
 And two of his hundred-barrel guards were ready 
 
 now to engage 
 In a bloody fight, and with open jaws they came 
 
 to their master's aid. 
 Then we knew the Captain's boat was doomed ; but 
 
 the crew were no whit afraid, — 
 They were brave New England whalemen, — and 
 
 we saw the harpooneer 
 Stand up to send in his irons, as soon as the whales 
 
 came near. 
 
90 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Then we heard the Captain's order, ' Heave ! ' and 
 
 saw the harpoon fly, 
 As the whales closed in with their ox^en jaws : a 
 
 shock, and a stifled cry 
 "Was all that we heard ; then we looked to see if 
 
 the crew were still afloat, — 
 But nothing was there save a dull red patch, and 
 
 the boards of the shattered boat I 
 
 " But that was no time for mourning words : the 
 
 other two boats came in. 
 And one got fast on the quarter, and one aft the 
 
 starboard fin 
 Of the Amber Whale. For a minute he paused, as 
 
 if he were in doubt 
 As to whether 'twas best to run or fight. ' Lay 
 
 on ! ' the Mate roared out, 
 ' And I '11 give him a lance ! ' The boat shot in ; 
 
 and the Mate, when he saw his chance 
 Of sending it home to the vitals, four times he 
 
 buried his lance. 
 A minute more, and a cheer went up, when we saw 
 
 that his aim was good ; 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 91 
 
 For the lance had struck in a life-spot, and the whale 
 
 was spouting blood ! 
 But now came the time of danger, for the school of 
 
 whales around 
 Had aired their flukes, and the cry was raised, 
 
 ' Look out ! they 're going to sound ! ' 
 And down they went with a sudden plunge, the 
 
 Amber Whale the last, 
 While the hues ran smoking out of the tubs, he 
 
 went to the deep so fast. 
 Before you could count your fingers, a hundred 
 
 fathoms were out; 
 And then he stopped, for a wounded whale must 
 
 come to the top and spout. 
 We hauled slack line as we felt him rise; and 
 
 when he came up alone, 
 And spouted thick blood, we cheered again, for we 
 
 knew he was all our own. 
 He was frightened now, and his fight was gone, — 
 
 right round and round he spun, 
 As if he was trying to sight the boats, or find the 
 
 best side to run. 
 
92 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 But that was the miiiute for us to work : the boats 
 
 hauled in their slack, 
 And bent on the drag-tubs over the stern to tire 
 
 and hold him back. 
 The bark was five miles to wind'ard, and the mate 
 
 gave a troubled glance 
 At the sinking sun, and muttered, ' Boys, we must 
 
 give lum another lance. 
 Or he '11 run till night ; and, if he should head to 
 
 wind'ard in the dark, 
 We 'II be forced to cut loose and leave him, or else 
 
 lose run of the bark.' 
 So we hauled in close, two boats at once, but only 
 
 frightened the whale ; 
 And, like a hound that was badly whipped, he 
 
 turned and showed liis tail, 
 With his head right dead to wind'ard; then as 
 
 straight and as swift he sped 
 As a hungry shark for a swimming prey; and, 
 
 bending over his head. 
 Like a mighty plume, went his bloody spout. Ah ! 
 
 shipmates, that was a sight 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 93 
 
 Worth a life at sea to witness. In his wake the sea 
 
 was white 
 As you 've seen it after a steamer's screw, churning 
 
 up like foaming yeast ; 
 And the boats went hissing along at the rate of 
 
 twenty knots at least, 
 With the water flush with the gunwale, and the 
 
 oars were all apeak. 
 While the crews sat silent and quiet, watching the 
 
 long, white streak 
 That was traced by the line of our passage. We 
 
 hailed the bark as we passed, 
 And told them to keep a sharp look-out from the 
 
 head of every mast; 
 ' And if we 're not back by sundown,' cried the 
 
 Mate, 'you keep a light 
 At the royal cross-trees. If he dies, we may stick 
 
 to the whale all night.' 
 
 "And past we swept with our oars apeak, and 
 
 waved our hands to the hail 
 Of the wondering men on the taffi-ail, who were 
 
 watching our Amber Whale 
 
94 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 As he surged ahead, just as if he thought he could 
 
 tire his enemies out ; 
 I was ahnost sorrowful, shipmates, to see after each 
 
 red spout 
 That the great whale's strength was failing: the 
 
 sweep of his flukes grew slow, 
 Till at sundown he made about four knots, and his 
 
 spout was weak and low. 
 Then said the Mate to his boat's crew : ' Boys, the 
 
 vessel is out of sight 
 To the leeward : now, shall we cut the line, or stick 
 
 to the whale all night ? ' 
 ' We '11 stick to the whale ! ' cried every man. ' Let 
 
 . the other boats go back 
 To the vessel and beat to wind'ard, as well as they 
 
 can, in our track.' 
 It was done as they said : the lines were cut, and 
 
 the crews cried out, ' Good speed ! ' 
 As we swept along in the darkness, in the wake 
 
 of our monster steed. 
 That went plunging on, with the dogged hope that 
 
 he 'd tire his enemies still, — 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 95 
 
 But even tlie strength, of an Amber Whale must 
 
 break before human will. 
 By little and little his power had failed as he 
 
 spouted his blood away, 
 Till at midnight the rising moon shone down on 
 
 the great fish as he lay 
 Just moving his flukes ; but at length he stopped, 
 
 and raising his square, black head 
 As high as the topmast cross-trees, swung round 
 
 and fell over — dead! 
 
 " And then rose a shout of triumph, — a shout that 
 
 was more like a curse 
 Than an honest cheer ; but, shipmates, the thought 
 
 in our hearts was worse. 
 And 'twas punished with bitter suffering. We 
 
 claimed the whale as our own, 
 And said that the crew should have no share of the 
 
 wealth that was ours alone. 
 We said to each other : We want their help till we 
 
 get the whale aboard. 
 So we '11 let 'em think that they '11 have a share till 
 
 we get the Amber stored, 
 
96 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And then we '11 pay them their wages, and send 
 
 them ashore — or afloat^ 
 If they show their temper. Ah ! shipmates, no 
 
 wonder 'twas that boat 
 And its selfish crew were cursed that night. Next 
 
 day we saw no sail, 
 But the wind and sea were rising. Still, we held 
 
 to the di'ifting whale, — 
 And a dead whale drifts to windward, — going 
 
 farther away from the ship. 
 Without water, or bread, or courage to pray with 
 
 heart or Up 
 That had planned and spoken the treachery. The 
 
 wind blew into a gale. 
 And it screamed like mocking laughter round our 
 
 boat and the Amber Whale. 
 
 " That night fell dark on the starving crew, and a 
 
 hurricane blew next day; 
 Then we cut the line, and we cursed the prize as it 
 
 drifted fast away. 
 As if some power under the waves were tovsdng it 
 
 out of sight ; 
 
THE AMBER WHALE. 97 
 
 And there we were, without helx3 or hope, dreading 
 
 the coming night. 
 Three days that hurricane lasted. When it passed, 
 
 .two men were dead ; 
 And the strongest one of the living had not strength. 
 
 to raise his head. 
 When his dreaming swoon was broken by the sound 
 
 of a cheery hail, 
 And he saw a shadow fall on the boat, — it fell 
 
 from the old bark's sail ! 
 And when he heard their kindly words, you 'd think 
 
 he should have smiled 
 With joy at his deliverance ; but he cried like a 
 
 little child. 
 And hid his face in his poor weak hands, — for he 
 
 thought of the selfish plan, — 
 And he prayed to God to forgive them aU. And, 
 
 shipmates, I am the man ! — 
 The only one of the sinful crew that ever beheld 
 
 his home ; 
 For before the cruise was over, all the rest were 
 
 under the foam. 
 
 5 
 
98 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 It 's just fifteen years gone, shipmates," said old 
 
 Mat, ending his tale ; 
 " And I often pray that I '11 never see another 
 
 Amber Whale." 
 
THE DUKITE SNAKE. 
 
Love is a plant with double root. 
 
 And of strange elastic power : 
 Men's minds are divided in naming tlie fruit, 
 
 But a kiss is only the flower. 
 
lOI 
 
 THE DUKITE SNAKE: 
 
 A WEST AUSTRALIAJSr BUSHMAN's STOKT. 
 
 ^T 7ELL, mate, you 've asked me about a fellow 
 
 You met to-day, in a black-and-yellow 
 Chain-gang suit, with a pedler's pack. 
 Or with some such burden, strapped to his back. 
 Did you meet him square ? No, passed you by ? 
 Well, if you had, and had looked in liis eye, 
 You 'd have felt for your irons then and there ; 
 For the light in his eye is a madman's glare. 
 A}^, mad, poor fellow ! I know him well, 
 And if you 're not sleepy just yet, I '11 tell 
 His story, — a strange one as ever you heard 
 Or read ; but I '11 vouch for it, every word. 
 
 You just wait a minute, mate : I must see 
 How that damper 's doing, and make some tea. 
 
I02 sojVGs from the southern seas. 
 
 You smoke ? That 's good ; for there 's plenty of 
 
 weed 
 In that wallaby skin. Does your horse feed 
 In the hobbles ? Well, he 's got good feed here, 
 And my own old bushmare won't interfere. 
 Done with that meat? Throw it there to the 
 
 dogs, 
 And fling on a couple of banksia logs. 
 
 And now for the story. That man who goes 
 Through the bush with the pack and the convict's 
 
 clothes 
 Has been mad for years ; but he does no harm, 
 And our lonely settlers feel no alartn 
 When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane -^ 
 Was a settler once, and a friend of my own. 
 Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, 
 Dave came from Scotland, and settled here. 
 A splendid young fellow he was just then. 
 And one of the bravest and truest men 
 That I ever met : he was kind as a woman 
 To all who needed a friend, and no man — 
 
THE DUKITE SNAKE. IO3 
 
 Not even a convict — met with liis scorn, 
 
 For David Sloane was a gentleman born. 
 
 Ay, friend, a gentleman, though it sounds queer : 
 
 There 's plenty of blue blood' flowing out here. 
 
 And some younger sons of your " upper ten " 
 
 Can be met with here, first-rate bushmen. 
 
 Why, friend, I — 
 
 Bah ! curse that dog ! you see 
 This talking so much has affected me. 
 
 Well, Sloane came here with an axe and a gun ; , 
 
 He bought four miles of a sandal-wood run. 
 
 This bush at that time was a lonesome place, 
 
 So lonesome the sight of a white man's face 
 
 Was a blessing, unless it came at night, 
 
 And peered in your hut, with the cunning fright 
 
 Of a runaway convict ; and even they 
 
 Were welcome, for talk's sake, while they could 
 
 stay. 
 Dave lived with me here for a while, and learned 
 The tricks of the bush, — how the snare was laid 
 In the wallaby track, how traps were made. 
 
I04 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 How 'possums and kangaroo rats were killed ; 
 
 And when that was learned, I helped hun to build 
 
 From mahogany slabs a good bush hut, 
 
 And showed him how sandal-wood logs were cut. 
 
 I lived up there with him days and days, 
 
 For I loved the lad for his honest ways. 
 
 I had only one fault to find : at first 
 
 Dave worked too hard ; for a lad who was nursed, 
 
 As he was, in idleness, it was strange 
 
 How he cleared that sandal-woocV off his range. 
 
 From the morning light till the light expired 
 
 He was always working, he never tired ; 
 
 Till at length I began to think his will 
 
 Was too much settled on wealth, and still 
 
 When I looked at the lad's brown face, and eye 
 
 Clear open, my heart gave such thought the lie. 
 
 But one day — for he read my mind — he laid 
 
 His hand on my shoulder : " Don't be afraid," 
 
 Said he, " that I 'm seeking alone for pelf. 
 
 I work hard, friend ; but 'tis not for myself." 
 
 And he told me then, in his quiet tone. 
 Of a girl in Scotland, who was his own, — 
 
THE DUKITE SNAKE. 105, 
 
 His wife, — 'twas for her : 'twas all he could say, 
 And his clear eye brimmed as he turned away. 
 After that he told me the simple tale : 
 They had married for love, and she was to sail 
 For Australia when he wrote home and told 
 The oft-watched-for story of finding gold. 
 
 In a year he wrote, and his news was good : 
 He had bought some cattle and sold his wood. 
 He said, " Darling,.! 've only a hut, — but come." 
 Friend, a husband's heart is a true wife's home ; 
 And he knew she 'd come. Then he turned his hand 
 To make neat the house, and prepare the land 
 For his crops and vines ; and he made that place 
 Put on such a smiling and homelike face. 
 That when she came, and he showed her round 
 His sandal-wood and his crops in the ground, 
 And spoke of the future, they cried for joy, 
 The husband's arm clasping his wife and boy. 
 
 Well, friend, if a little of heaven's best bliss 
 
 Ever comes from the upper world to this, 
 6* 
 
io6 sojvgs from the southern seas. 
 
 It came into that manly bushman's life, 
 And circled him round with the arms of his wife. 
 God bless that bright memory ! Even to me, 
 A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be, 
 While living, an angel of God's pure love, 
 And now I could pray to her face above. 
 And David he loved her as only a man 
 With a heart as large as was his heart can. 
 I wondered how they could have lived apart, . 
 For he was her idol, and she his heart. 
 
 JFriend, there isn't much more of the tale to tell : 
 I was talking of angels awliile since. Well, 
 Now I '11 change to a devil, — ay, to a devil ! 
 You need n't start : if a spirit of evil 
 Ever came to this world its hate to slake 
 On mankind, it came as a Dukite Snake. 
 
 Like ? Like the pictures you 've seen of Sin, 
 A long red snake, — as if what was within 
 Was fire that gleamed through his glistening 
 skin. 
 
THE DUKITE SNAKE. 107 
 
 And his eyes ! — if you could go down to hell 
 And come back to your fellows here and tell 
 What the fire was like, you could find no thing, 
 Here below on the earth, or up in the sky, 
 To compare it to but a Dukite's eye ! 
 
 Now, mark you, these Dukites don't go alone : 
 There 's another near when you see but one ; 
 And beware you of killing that one you see 
 "Without finding the other ; for you may be 
 More than twenty miles from the spot that night, 
 When camped, but you 're tracked by the lone 
 
 Dukite, 
 That will follow your trail like Death or Fate, 
 And kill you as sure as you killed its mate ! 
 
 Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here 
 Three months, — 'twas just this time of the year. 
 He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse, 
 And was homeward bound, when he saw in tl.9 
 
 grass 
 A long; red snake : he had never been told 
 
lo8 SONGS FRGM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Of the Dukite's ways, — lie jumped to the road, 
 And smashed its flat head with the bullock-goad ! 
 
 He was proud of the red sMn, so he tied 
 
 Its tail to the cart, and the snake's blood dyed 
 
 The bush on the path he followed that night. 
 
 He was early home, and the dead Dukite 
 Was flung at the door to be skinned next day. 
 At sunrise next morning he started away 
 To hunt up his cattle. A three hours' ride 
 Brought him back : he gazed on liis home with pride 
 And joy in his heart ; he jumped from his horse- 
 And entered — to look on his young wife's corse. 
 And his dead child clutching its mother's clothes 
 As in fright ; and there, as he gazed, arose 
 From her breast, where 'twas resting, the gleaming 
 
 head 
 Of the terrible Dukite, as if it said, 
 " Pve had vengeance^ my foe : you took all Ihad.''^ 
 
 And so had the snake — David Sloans was mad I 
 
THE DUKITE SNAKE. 109 
 
 jjjrocle to his liut just by chance that night, 
 And there on the threshold the clear moonlight 
 Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in the 
 
 door 
 With an awful feehng of coming .woe : 
 The dead were stretched on the moonlit floor, 
 The man held the hand of his wife, — his pride, 
 His poor life's treasure, — and crouched by her 
 
 side. 
 
 God ! I sank with the weight of the blow. 
 
 1 touched and called him : he heeded me not, 
 So I dug her- grave in a quiet spot. 
 
 And lifted them both, — her boy on her breast, — 
 And laid them down in the shade to rest. 
 Then I tried to take my poor friend away, 
 But he cried so wofully, " Let me stay 
 Till she comes again ! " that I had no heart 
 To try to persuade him then to part 
 From all that was left to him here, — her grave ; 
 So I stayed by his side that night, and, save 
 One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound, — 
 O God ! that wail — like the wail of a hound ! 
 
no SOuVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 'Tis SIX long years since I heard that cry, 
 
 But 'tAvill ring in my ears till the day I die. 
 
 Since that fearful night no one has heard 
 
 Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. 
 
 You have seen to-day how he always goes : 
 
 He 's been given that suit of convict's clothes 
 
 By some prison officer. On liis back 
 
 You noticed a load like a pedler's pack ? 
 
 Well, that 's what he lives for : when reason went, 
 
 Still memory Hved, for his days are spent 
 
 In searching for Dukites ; and year by year 
 
 That bundle of skins is growing. 'Tis clear 
 
 That the Lord out of evil some good still takes ; 
 
 For he 's clearing this bush of the Dukite snakes. 
 
THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 
 
Each virtuous act is a kernel soum 
 That will grow to a goodly tree, 
 
 Shedding its fruit when time has flown 
 Down the gulf of eternity. 
 
113 
 
 THE MONSTER DIAMOND: 
 
 A TALE OF THE PENAL COLOJSTT OF WEST AUSTRALIA. 
 
 " T 'LL have it, I tell you ! Curse you ! — there ! " 
 The long knife ghtterecl, was sheathed, and 
 was bare. 
 The sawyer staggered and tripped and fell, 
 And falling he uttered a frightened yell : 
 HTis face to the sky, he shuddered and gasped, 
 And tried to put from him the man he had grasped 
 A moment before in the terrible strife. 
 " I '11 have it, I tell you, or have your life ! 
 Where is it? " The sawyer grew weak, but still 
 His brown face gleamed with a desperate will. 
 " Where is it ? " he heard, and the red knife's drip 
 In his slayer's hand fell down on his lip. 
 " Will yoii give it ? " " Never ! " A curse, the knife 
 Was raised and buried. 
 
114 so JVC S FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Thus closed the life 
 Of Samuel Jones, known as " Number Ten " 
 On his Ticket-of-Leave ; and of all the men 
 In the Western Colony, bond or free, 
 None had manlier heart or hand than he. 
 
 In digging a sawpit, while all alone, — 
 
 For his mate was sleeping, — Sam struck a stone 
 
 With the edge of the spade, and it gleamed like 
 
 fire. 
 And looked at Sam from its bed in the mire, 
 Till he dropped the spade and stooped and raised 
 The wonderful stone that glittered and blazed 
 As if it were mad at the spade's rude blow ; 
 But its blaze set the sawyer's heart aglow 
 As he looked and trembled, then turned him round, 
 And crept from the pit, and lay on the ground, 
 Looking over the mould-heap at the camp 
 Where his mate still slept. Then down to the 
 
 swamp 
 He ran with the stone, and washed it bright, 
 And felt like a drunken man at the sight 
 
THE MONSTER DIAMOND. IlS 
 
 Of a diamond pure as spring- water and sun, 
 And larger than ever man's eyes looked on ! 
 
 Then down sat Sam with the stone on liis knees, 
 
 And fancies came to him, like swarms of bees 
 
 To a sugar-creamed liive \ and he dreamed awake 
 
 Of the carriage and four in which he 'd take 
 
 His pals from the Dials to Drury Lane, 
 
 The silks and the satins for Susan Jane, 
 
 The countless bottles of brandy and beer 
 
 He 'd call for and pay for, and every year 
 
 The dinner he 'd give to the Brummagem lads, — 
 
 He 'd be king among cracksmen and chief among 
 
 pads, 
 And he 'd sport a — 
 
 Over him stooped his mate, 
 A pick in his hand, and his face all hate. 
 
 Sam saw the shadow, and guessed the pick. 
 And closed his dream with a spring so quick 
 The purpose was baffled of Aaron Mace, 
 And the sawyer mates stood face to face. 
 
Il6 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Sam folded his arms across liis chest, 
 
 Having thrust the stone in liis loose shirt-breast, 
 
 While he tried to think where he dropped the spade. 
 
 But Aaron Mace wore a long, keen blade 
 
 In his belt, — he drew it, — sprang on liis man : 
 
 What happened, you read when the tale began. 
 
 Then he looked — the murderer, Aaron Mace — 
 At the gray-blue lines in the dead man's face ; 
 And he turned away, for he feared its frown 
 More in death than life. Then he knelt liim down, — 
 Not to pray, — but he shrank from the staring eyes, 
 And felt in the breast for the fatal prize. 
 And this was the man, and tliis was the way 
 That he took the stone on its natal day ; 
 And for tliis he was cursed for evermore 
 By the West Australian Koh-i-nor. 
 
 In the half-dug pit the corpse was thrown. 
 And the murderer stood in the camp alone. 
 Alone ? No, no ! never more was he 
 To part from the terrible company 
 
THE MONSTER DIAMOND. I17 
 
 Of that gray-blue face and the bleeding breast 
 And the staring eyes in their awful rest. 
 The evening closed on the homicide, 
 And the blood of the buried sawyer cried 
 Through the night to God, and the shadows dark 
 That crossed the camp had the stiff and stark 
 And horrible look of a murdered man ! 
 Then he piled the fire, and crept within 
 The ring of its light, that closed him in 
 Like tender mercy, and drove away 
 For a tune the spectres that stood at bay, 
 And waited to clutch him as demons wait, 
 Shut out from the sinner by Faith's bright gate. 
 But the fire burnt low, and the slayer slept, 
 And the key of his sleep was always kept 
 By the leaden hand of liim he had slain. 
 That oped the door but to drench the brain 
 With agony cruel. The night wind crept 
 Like a snake on the shuddering form that slept 
 And dreamt, and woke and shrieked ; for there, 
 With its gray-blue lines and its ghastly stare, 
 
Il8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Cutting into the vitals of Aaron Mace, 
 
 In the flickering light was the sawyer's face I 
 
 Evermore 'twas with him, that dismal sight, — 
 The wliite face set in the frame of night. 
 He wandered away from the spot, but found 
 No inch of the West Austrahan ground 
 Where he could liide from the bleeding breast, 
 Or sink his head in a dreamless rest. 
 
 And always with him he bore the prize 
 In a pouch of leather : the staring eyes 
 Might burn his soul, but the diamond's gleam 
 Was solace and joy for the haunted dream. 
 
 So the years rolled on, while the murderer's mind 
 Was bent on a futile quest, — to find 
 A way of escape from the blood-stained soil 
 And the terrible wear of the penal toil. 
 
 But tins was a part of the diamond's curse, — 
 The toU^that was heavy before grew worse, 
 
THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 1 19 
 
 Till the panting wretch in his fierce unrest 
 
 Would clutch the pouch as it laj on his breast, 
 
 And waking cower, with sob and moan, 
 
 Or shriek wild curses against the stone 
 
 That was only a stone ; for he could not sell, 
 
 And he dare not break, and he feared to tell 
 
 Of his wealth: so he bore it through hopes and 
 
 fears — 
 His God and his devH — for years and years. 
 
 And thus did he draw near the end of his race, 
 With a form bent double and horror-lined face. 
 And a piteous look, as if asking for grace 
 Or for kindness from some one ; but no kind word 
 Was flung to his misery : shunned, abhorred. 
 E'en by wretches themselves, till his life was a 
 
 curse. 
 And he thought that e'en death could bring nothing 
 
 worse 
 Than the phantoms that stirred at the diamond's 
 
 weight, — 
 His own life's ghost and the ghost of his mate. 
 
I20 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 So lie turned one day fi-om the haunts of men, 
 
 And their friendless faces ; an old man then, 
 
 In a convict's garb, with white flowing hair. 
 
 And a brow deep seared with the word, " Despair." 
 
 He gazed not back as his way he took 
 
 To the untrod forest ; and oh ! the look. 
 
 The piteous look in his sunken eyes. 
 
 Told that life was the bitterest sacrifice. 
 
 But little was heard of liis later days : 
 'Twas deemed in the West that in change of ways 
 He tried with his tears to wash out the sin. 
 'Twas told by some natives who once came in 
 From the Kojunup Hills, that lonely there 
 They had seen a figure with long white hair ; 
 They encamped close by where his hut was made, 
 And were scared at night when they saw he prayed 
 To the white man's God ; and on one wild night 
 They had heard his voice till the morning light. 
 
 Years passed, and a sandalwood-cutter stood 
 At a ruined hut in a Kojunup wood : 
 
THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 121 
 
 The raiik weeds covered tlie desolate floor, 
 And an ant-hill stood on the fallen door ; 
 The cupboard within to the snakes was loot, 
 And the hearth was the home of the bandicoot. 
 But neither at hut nor snake nor rat 
 Was the woodcutter staring intent, but at 
 A human skeleton clad in gray, 
 The hands clasped over the breast, as they 
 Had fallen in peace when he ceased to pray. 
 
 As the bushman looked on the form, he saw 
 In the breast a paper : he stooped to draw 
 What might tell him the story, but at Ms touch 
 From under the hands rolled a leathern pouch. 
 And he raised it too, — on the paper's face 
 He read " Ticket-of-Leave of Aaron Mace." 
 Then he opened the pouch, and in dazed surprise 
 At its contents strange he unblessed his eyes : 
 ' Twa8 a lump of quartz, — a pound weight in full, — 
 And it fell from his hand on the skeleton's skull ! 
 
123 
 
 HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 
 
 "lyiATHAN BEANS and William Lambert were 
 
 two wild New England boys, 
 Known from infancy to revel only in forbidden 
 
 joys- 
 Many a mother of Nantucket bristled when she 
 
 heard them come, 
 
 With a horrid skulking whistle, tempting her good 
 
 lad from home. 
 But for all maternal bristling little did they seem to 
 
 care. 
 And they loved each other dearly, did this good-for- 
 nothing pair. 
 
 So they lived till eighteen summers found them in 
 the same repute, — 
 
 They had well-developed muscles, and loose char- 
 acters to boot. 
 
I'24 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Then they did what wild Nantucket boys have 
 
 never failed to do, — 
 Went and filled two oily bunks among a whaler's 
 
 oily crew. 
 And the mothers, — ah ! they raised their hands 
 
 and blessed the lucky day, 
 While Nantucket waved its handkerchief to see 
 
 them sail away. 
 
 On a four years' cruise they started in the brave old 
 
 " Patience Parr," 
 And were soon initiated in the mysteries of tar. 
 There they found the truth that whalers' tales are 
 
 unsubstantial wiles, — 
 They were sick and sore and sorry ere they passed 
 
 the Western Isles ; 
 And their captain, old-man Sculpin, gave their 
 
 fancies little scope, 
 For he argued with a marlinspike and reasoned 
 
 with a rope. 
 
 But they stuck together bravely, they were Ish- 
 maels with the crew : 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 25 
 
 Nathan's voice was never raised but Bill's support 
 
 was uttered too ; 
 And whenever Beans was floored by Sculpin's cruel 
 
 marlinspike, 
 Down beside Mm went poor Lambert, for liis band 
 
 was clenched to strike. 
 So they passed two years in cruising, till one breath- 
 less burning day 
 The old "Patience Parr" in Sunda Straits* with 
 
 flapping canvas lay. 
 On her starboard side Sumatra's woods were dark 
 
 beneath the glare, 
 And on her ^^ort stretched Java, slumbering in the 
 
 yellow air, — 
 ^lumbering as the jaguar slumbers, as the tropic 
 
 ocean sleeps. 
 Smooth and smiling on its surface with a devil in 
 
 its deeps. 
 So swooned Java's moveless forest, but the jungle 
 
 round its root 
 
 * The straits of Sunda, seven miles wide at the southern extremity, lie 
 between Sumatra and Java. 
 
126 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Knew the rustling anaconda and the tiger's padded 
 
 foot. 
 There in Nature's rankest garden, Nature's worst 
 
 alone is rife, 
 And a glorious land is wild-beast ruled for want of 
 
 human life. 
 Scarce a harmless thing moved on it, not a living 
 
 soul was near 
 J'rom the frowning rocks of Java Head right nortli- 
 
 ward to Anjier. 
 Crestless swells, like wmd-raised canvas, made the 
 
 whaler rise and dip, 
 Else she lay upon the water like a paralytic 
 
 ship ; 
 And beneath a topsail awning lay the lazy, languid 
 
 crew, 
 Drmking in the precious coolness of the shadow, — 
 
 all save two : 
 Two poor Ishmaels, — they were absent. Heaven 
 
 help them ! — roughly tied 
 'Neath the blistering cruel sun-glare in the fore- 
 chains, side by side. 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 127 
 
 Side by side as it was always, each one with a 
 
 word of cheer 
 For the other, and for his sake bravely choking 
 
 back the tear. 
 Side by side, their pain or pastime never yet seemed 
 
 good for one ; 
 But whenever pain came, each in secret wished the 
 
 other gone. 
 
 You who stop at home and saunter o'er your flower- 
 scattered path, 
 
 With life's corners velvet-cushioned, have you seen 
 a tyrant's wrath ? — 
 
 Wrath, the rude and reckless demon, not the 
 drawing-room display 
 
 Of an anger led by social lightning-rods upon its 
 way. 
 
 Ah ! my friends, wrath's raw materials on the land 
 may sometimes be. 
 
 But the manufactured article is only found at sea. 
 
 And the wrath of old-man Sculpin was of texture 
 Number One : 
 
128 sojvgs from the southern seas. 
 
 Never absent, — when the man smiled it was hid- 
 den, but not gone. 
 
 Old church-members of Nantucket knew him for a 
 shining lamp, 
 
 But his chronic Christian spirit was of pharisaic 
 stamp. 
 
 "When ashore, he prayed aloud of how he 'd sinned 
 and been forgiven, — 
 
 How his evil ways had brought him 'thin an ace of 
 losing heaven ; 
 
 Thank the Lord ! his eyes were opened, and so on ; 
 but when the ship 
 
 "Was just ready for a voyage, you could see old 
 Sculpin's lip 
 
 Have a sort of nervous tremble, like a carter's long- 
 leashed whip 
 
 Ere it cracks ; and so the skipper's lip was trem- 
 bling for an oath 
 
 At the watch on deck for idleness, the watch below 
 for sloth. 
 
 For the leash of his anathemas was long enough for 
 both. 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 29 
 
 Well, 'twas burning noon off Java: Beans and 
 
 Lambert in the chains 
 Sank tlieip beads, and all was silent but the voices 
 
 of their pains. 
 Nigbt came ere tbeir bonds were loosened; then 
 
 tlie boys sank down and slept. 
 And tlie dew in place of loved ones on their 
 
 wounded bodies wept. 
 
 All was still within the whaler, — on the sea no 
 
 fanning breeze, 
 And the moon alone was moving over Java's gloomy 
 
 trees. 
 Midnight came, — one sleeper's waking glance went 
 
 out the moon to meet : 
 Nathan rose, and turned from Lambert, who still 
 
 slumbered at his feet. 
 Out toward Java went his vision, as if something 
 
 in the air 
 Came with promises of kindness and of peace to 
 
 be found there. 
 
 6* 
 
I30 SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Then towards the davits moved he, where the 
 lightest whale-boat hung ; 
 
 And he worked with silent caution till upon the 
 sea she swung, 
 
 When he paused, and looked at Lambert, and the 
 spirit in him cried 
 
 Not to leave him, but to venture, as since child- 
 hood, side by side ; 
 
 And the spuit's cry was answered, for he touched 
 the sleeper's lip. 
 
 Who awoke and heard of Nathan's plan to leave 
 th' accursed ship. 
 
 When 'twas told, they rose in silence, and looked 
 
 outward to the land, 
 But they only saw Nantucket, with its homely, 
 
 boat-lined strand ; 
 But they saw it — oh ! so plainly — through the 
 
 glass of coming doom. 
 Then they crept into the whale-boat, and pulled 
 
 toward the forest's gloom, — 
 All their suffering clear that moment, like the 
 
 moonlight on their wake, 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 131 
 
 Now contracting, now expanding, like a pliospho- 
 rescent snake. 
 
 Hours speed on : tlie dark horizon yet shows scarce 
 a streak of gray 
 
 When old Sculpin comes on deck to walk his rest- 
 lessness away. 
 
 All the scene is still and solemn, and mayhap the 
 man's cold heart 
 
 Feels its teaching, for the wild-beast cries from 
 shoreward make him start 
 
 As if they had warnmg in them, and he o'er its 
 meaning pored. 
 
 Till at length one shriek from Java sphts the dark- 
 ness like a sword ; 
 
 And he almost screams in answer, such the nearness 
 of the cry, 
 
 As he clutches at the rigging with a horror in his 
 eye, 
 
 And with faltering accents mutters, as against the 
 mast he leans, 
 
 *' Darn the tigers ! that one shouted with the voice of 
 Nathan Beans!" 
 
y 
 
 132 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 When the boys were missed soon after, Sculpin 
 
 never breathed a word 
 Of his terror in the morning at the fearful sound 
 
 he 'd heard ; 
 But he entered in the log-book, and 'twas witnessed 
 
 by the mates, 
 Just their names, and following after, " Ran away 
 
 in Sunda Straits." 
 
 Two years after. Captain Sculpin saw again the 
 
 Yankee shore, 
 With the comfortable feehng that he 'd go to sea no 
 
 more. 
 And 'twas strange the way he altered when he saw 
 
 Nantucket light : 
 Holy lines spread o'er his face, and chased the old 
 
 ones out of sight. 
 And for many a year thereafter did his zeal spread 
 
 far and wide, 
 And with all his pious doings was the township 
 
 edified; 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 133 
 
 For he led the sacred singing in an unctuous, nasal 
 
 tone, 
 And he looked as if the sermon and the Scriptures 
 
 were his own. 
 
 But one day the white-haired preacher spoke of 
 
 how God's justice fell 
 Soon or late with awful sureness on the man whose 
 
 heart could tell 
 Of a wrong done to the widow or the orphan, and 
 
 he said 
 That such wrongs were ever living, though the 
 
 injured ones were dead. 
 And old Sculpm's heart was writhing, though his 
 
 heavy eyes were closed, — 
 For, despite his solemn sanctity, at sermon times he 
 
 dozed ; 
 But his half-awakened senses heard the preacher 
 
 speak of death 
 And of wrongs done unto orphans, and he dreamed 
 
 with wheezing breath 
 
134 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 That cold hands were tearing from his heart its 
 
 pharisaic screens, 
 That the preacher was a tiger with the voice of 
 
 Nathan Beans ! 
 And he shrieked and jumped up wildly, and upon 
 
 the seat stood he, 
 As if standing on the whaler looking outward on 
 
 the sea; 
 And he clutched as at the rigguig with a horror in 
 
 his eye. 
 For he saw the woods of Java and he heard that 
 
 human cry, 
 As he crouched and cowered earthward. And the 
 
 simple folk around 
 Stood with looks of kindly sympathy : they raised 
 
 him from the ground. 
 And they brought him half unconscious to the hum- 
 ble chapel door, 
 Whence he fled as from a scourging, and he entered 
 
 it no more ; 
 For the sight of that old preacher brought the 
 
 horror to liis face, 
 
HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 35 
 
 And lie dare not meet his neighbors' honest eyes 
 
 within the place, 
 For his conscience like a mirror rose and showed 
 
 the dismal scenes, 
 Where the tiger yelled for ever with the voice of 
 
 Nathan Beans. 
 
^37 
 
 WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 
 
 r\ BEAUTEOUS Southland! land of yellow 
 air, 
 
 That hangeth o'er thee slumbering, and doth hold 
 The moveless foliage of thy valleys fair 
 
 And wooded hills, like aureole of gold. 
 
 O thou, discovered ere the fitting time, 
 
 Ere Nature in completion turned thee forth I 
 
 Ere aught was finished but thy peerless chme, 
 Thy virgin breath allured the amorous North. 
 
 O land, God made thee wondrous to the eye ! 
 
 But His sweet singers thou hast never heard ; 
 He left thee, meaning to come by-and-bye, 
 
 And give rich voice to every bright-winged bird. 
 
138 SO.YGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 He painted with fresh hues thy myriad flowers, 
 But left them scentless : ah ! their woful dole, 
 
 Like sad reproach of theii' Creator's powers, — 
 To make so sweet fair bodies, void of soul. 
 
 He gave thee trees of odorous precious wood ; 
 
 But, midst them all, bloomed not one tree of fruit. 
 He looked, but said not that His work was good. 
 
 When leaving thee all perfumeless and mute. 
 
 He blessed thy flowers with honey : every bell 
 Looks earthward, sunward, with a yearning wist ; 
 
 But no bee-lover ever notes the swell 
 
 Of hearts, like lips, a-hungering to be kist. 
 
 O strange land, thou art virgin ! thou art more 
 Than fig-tree barren ! Would that I could i)aint 
 
 For others' eyes the glory of the shore 
 
 Where last I saw thee ; but the senses faint 
 
WESTERN AUSTRALIA. I39 
 
 In soft delicious dreaming when they drain 
 Thy wine of color. Virgin fair thou art, 
 
 All sweetly fruitful, waiting with soft pain 
 
 The spouse who comes to wake thy sleeping 
 heart. 
 
[40 
 
 GOLU. 
 
 ONCE I had a little sweetheart 
 In the land of the Malay, — 
 Such a little yellow sweetheart ! 
 Warm and peerless as the day 
 Of her own dear sunny island, 
 Keimah, in the far, far East, 
 Where the mango and banana 
 Made us many a meny feast. 
 
 Such a little copper sweetheart 
 
 Was my Golu, plump and round. 
 With her liair all blue-black streaming 
 
 O'er her to the very ground. 
 Soft and clear as dew-drop clinging 
 
 To a grass blade was her eye ; 
 For the heart below was purer 
 
 Than the liiU-stream whispering by. 
 
GOLU. 14^ 
 
 Costly robes were not for Golu : 
 
 No more raiment did she need 
 Than the milky budding breadfruit, 
 
 Or the lily of the mead ; -. 
 
 And she was my little sweetheart 
 
 Many a sunny summer day, 
 When we ate the fragrant guavas, 
 
 In the land of the Malay. 
 
 Life was laughing then. Ah ! Golu, 
 
 Do you think of that old time, 
 And of all the tales I told you 
 
 Of my colder Western clime ? 
 Do you think how happy were we 
 
 When we sailed to strip the palm. 
 And we made a latteen arbor 
 
 Of the boat-sail in the calm ? 
 
 They may call you semi-savage, 
 
 Golu ! I cannot forget 
 How I poised my little sweetheart 
 
 Like a copper statuette. 
 
142 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Now my path lies through the cities ; 
 
 But they cannot drive away 
 My sweet dreams of little Golu 
 
 And the land of the Malay. 
 
143 
 
 CHUNDER ALI'S WIFE. 
 
 FROM THE HINDOSTANEE. 
 
 "T AM poor," said Chunder Ali, while the Man- 
 darin above him 
 
 Frowned in supercilious anger at the dog who 
 dared to speak ; 
 
 " I am friendless and a Hindoo : such a one meets 
 few to love him 
 
 Here in China, where the Hindoo finds the truth 
 alone is weak. 
 
 I have naught to buy your justice ; were I wise, I 
 had not striven. 
 
 Speak your judgment ; " and he crossed his arms 
 and bent his quivering face. 
 
144 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Heard he then the unjust sentence : all his goods 
 
 and gold were given 
 To another, and he stood alone, a beggar in the 
 
 place. 
 
 And the man who bought the judgment looked 
 
 in triumph and derision 
 At the cheated Hindoo merchant, as he rubbed 
 
 his hands and smiled 
 At the whispered gratulation of his friends, and at 
 
 the vision 
 Of the more than queenly dower for Ahmeer, his 
 
 only child. 
 Fair Ahmeer, who of God's creatures was the only 
 
 one who loved him, 
 She, the diamond of his treasures, the one lamb 
 
 within his fold. 
 She, whose voice, like her dead mother's, was the 
 
 only power that moved him, — 
 She would praise the skill that gained her all this 
 
 Hindoo's silk and gold. 
 And the old man thanked Confucius, and the judge, 
 
 and him who pleaded. 
 
CHUNDER ALPS WIFE. 145 
 
 But wliy falls this sudden silence ? why does each 
 
 one hold his breath ? 
 Every eye turns on the Hindoo, who before was 
 
 all unheeded, 
 And in wond'ring expectation all the court grows 
 
 still as death. 
 
 Not alone stood Chunder Ali : by his side Ahmeer 
 
 was standing, 
 And his brown hand rested lightly on her shoulder 
 
 as he smiled 
 At the sweet young face turned toward him. Then 
 
 the father's voice commanding 
 Fiercely bade his daughter to him from the dog 
 
 whose touch defiled. 
 But she moved not, and she looked not at her father 
 
 or the others 
 As she answered, with her eyes upon the Hindoo's 
 
 noble face : 
 " Nay, my father, he defiles not : this kind arm above 
 
 all others 
 Is my choosing, and forever by his side shall be my 
 
 place. 
 
146 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 When you knew not, his dear hand had given many 
 
 a sweet love-token, 
 He had gathered all my heartstrings and had bound 
 
 them round his life ; 
 Yet you tell me he defiles me : nay, my. father, you 
 
 have spoken 
 In your anger, and not knowing I was Chunder 
 
 All's wife." 
 
147 
 
 HIDDEN SINS. 
 
 ipOR every sin that comes before the light, 
 
 And leaves an outward blemish on the soul, 
 How many, darker, cower out of sight. 
 
 And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole. 
 And like the mole, too, with its busy feet 
 
 That dig and dig a never-ending cave. 
 Our hidden sins gnaw through the soul, and meet 
 
 And feast upon each other in its grave. 
 
 A buried sin is like a covered sore 
 
 That spreads and festers 'neath a painted face ; 
 And no man's art can heal it evermore, 
 
 But only His — the Surgeon's — promised grace. 
 Who hides a sin is like the hunter who 
 
 Once warmed a frozen adder with his breath. 
 And when he placed it near his heart it flew 
 
 With poisoned fangs and stung that heart to death. 
 
14^ SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 A sculptor once a granite statue made, 
 
 One-sided only, just to fit its place : 
 The unseen side was monstrous ; so men shade 
 
 Their evil acts behind a smiling face. 
 O blind ! O foolish ! thus our sins to hide, 
 
 And force our pleading hearts the gall to sip ; 
 O cowards ! who must eat the myrrh, that Pride 
 
 May smile like Virtue with a lying lip. 
 
 A sin admitted is nigh half atoned ; 
 
 And while the fault is red and freshly done, 
 If we but drop our eyes and think, — 'tis owned, - 
 
 'Tis half forgiven, half the crown is won. 
 But if we heedless let it reek and rot, 
 
 Then pile a mountam on its grave, and turn. 
 With smiles to all the world, — that tainted spot 
 
 Beneath the mound will never cease to burn. 
 
149 
 
 UNSPOKEN WORDS. 
 
 'THHE kindly words that rise within the heart, 
 
 And thrill it with their sympathetic tone, 
 But die ere spoken, fail to play their part. 
 
 And claim a merit that is not their own. 
 The kindly word unspoken is a sin, — 
 
 A sin that wraps itself in purest guise. 
 And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within. 
 
 That not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies. 
 
 But 'tis not so : another heart may thirst 
 
 For that kind word, as Hagar in the wild — 
 Poor banished Hagar ! — prayed a well might burst 
 
 From out the sand to save her parching chUd. 
 And loving eyes that cannot see the mind 
 
 Will watch the expected movement of the lip : 
 Ah ! can ye let its cutting silence wind 
 
 Around that heart, and scathe it like a whip ? 
 
150 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Unspoken words, like treasures in the mine, 
 
 Are valueless until we give them birth : 
 Like unfound gold their hidden beauties shine, 
 
 Which God has made to bless and gild the earth. 
 How sad 'twould be to see a master's hand 
 
 Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute ! 
 But oh ! what pain when, at God's own command, 
 
 A heart-string thrills with kindness, but is mute ! 
 
 Then hide it not, the music of the soul. 
 
 Dear sympathy, expressed with kindly voice, 
 But let it like a shining river roll 
 
 To deserts dry, — to hearts that would rejoice. 
 Oh ! let the symphony of kindly words 
 
 Sound for the poor, the friendless, and the weak ; 
 And He will bless you, — He who struck these 
 chords 
 
 Will strike another when in turn you seek. 
 
151 
 
 MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 TT chanced to me upon a time to sail 
 
 Across the Southern Ocean to and fro ; 
 And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale 
 
 Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go. 
 And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, 
 
 Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone, 
 Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, 
 
 And left us yearning still for lands unknown. 
 
 And when we found one, — for 'tis soon to find 
 In thousand-isled Cathay another isle, — 
 
 For one short noon its treasures filled the mind. 
 And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile. 
 
 And so it was, from isle to isle we passed, 
 Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips ; 
 
152 MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 And when that all was tasted, then at last 
 We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips. 
 
 I learned from this there is no Southern land 
 
 Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. 
 Sick minds need change ; but, when in health they 
 stand 
 
 'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home agen. 
 And thus with me it %as : the yearning turned 
 
 From laden airs of cinnamon away, 
 And stretched far westward, while the full heart 
 burned 
 
 With love for Ireland, looking on Cathay I 
 
 My first dear love, all dearer for thy grief ! 
 
 My land, that has no peer in all the sea 
 For verdure, vale, or river, flower or leaf, — 
 
 If first to no man else, thou 'rt first to me. 
 New loves may come with duties, but the first 
 
 Is deepest yet, — the mother's breath and smiles : 
 Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed 
 
 Is my poor land, the Niobe of isles. 
 
153 
 
 THE POISON-FLOWER. 
 
 TN the evergreen sliade of an Austral wood, 
 Where the long branches laced above, 
 Through which all day it seemed 
 The sweet sunbeams down-gleamed 
 Like the rays of a young mother's love, 
 When she hides her glad face with her hands and 
 peeps 
 At the younghng that crows on her knee : 
 'Neath such ray-shivered shade, 
 In a banksia glade, 
 Was this flower first shown to me. 
 
 A rich pansy it was, with a small white lip 
 And a wonderful purple hood ; 
 And your eye caught the sheen 
 Of its leaves, parrot-green, 
 Down the dim gothic aisles of the wood. 
 And its foliage rich on the moistureless sand 
 
 7* 
 
154 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Made you long for its odorous breath ; 
 
 But ah ! 'twas to take 
 
 To your bosom a snake, 
 For its pestilent fragrance was death. 
 
 And I saw it again, in a far northern land, — 
 Not a pansy, not purple and white ; 
 
 Yet in beauteous guise 
 
 Did this poison-plant rise. 
 Fair and fatal again to my sight. 
 And men longed for her kiss and her odorous breath 
 When no friend was beside them to tell 
 
 That to kiss was to die. 
 
 That her truth was a lie, 
 And her beauty a soul-killing spell. 
 
155 
 
 MY MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 'T^HERE is one bright star in heaven 
 
 Ever shining in my night ; 
 God to me one guide has given, 
 
 Like the sailor's beacon-light, 
 Set on every shoal and danger, 
 
 Sending out its warning ray 
 To the home-bound weary stranger 
 
 Looking for the land-locked bay. 
 
 In my farthest, wildest wanderings 
 I have turned me to that love, 
 
 As a diver, 'neath the water. 
 Turns to watch the light above. 
 
^5^ 
 
 THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 
 
 /^LD memories rusli o'er my mind just now 
 
 Of faces and friends of the past ; 
 Of that happy time when life's dream was all bright. 
 
 Ere the clear sky of youth was o'ercast. 
 Very dear are those mem'ries, — they 've clung 
 round my heart, 
 And bravely withstood Time's rude shock ; 
 But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now 
 Than the face of the old school clock. 
 
 'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face, 
 
 And great iron weights and chain ; 
 It stopped when it liked, and before it struck 
 
 It creaked as if 'twere in pain. 
 
THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 157 
 
 It had seen many years, and it seemed to say, 
 
 " I 'm one of the real old stock," 
 To the youthful fry, who with reverence looked 
 
 On the face of the old school clock. 
 
 How many a time have I labored to sketch 
 
 That yellow and time-honored face, 
 With its basket of flowers, its figures and hands, 
 
 And the weights and the chains in their place ! 
 How oft have I gazed with admiring eye, 
 
 As I sat on the wooden block. 
 And pondered and guessed at the wonderful things 
 
 That were inside that old school clock I 
 
 What a terrible frown did the old clock wear 
 
 To the truant, who timidly cast 
 An anxious eye on those merciless hands, 
 
 That for him had been moving too fast I 
 But its frown soon changed ; for it loved to smile 
 
 On the thoughtless, noisy flock, . 
 And it creaked and whirred and struck with glee, — 
 
 Did that genial, good-humored old clock. 
 
15^ SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled 
 
 With the world, its cares and ways, 
 When again I stood in that little school 
 
 Where I passed my boyhood's days. 
 My old friend was gone! and there hung a thing 
 
 That my sorrow seemed to mock. 
 As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart 
 
 At a new-fashioned Yankee clock. 
 
 'Twas a gaudy thing with bright painted sides, 
 
 And it looked with insolent stare 
 On the desks and the seats and on every thing old ; 
 
 And I thought of the friendly air 
 Of the face that I missed, with its weights and 
 chains, — 
 
 All gone to the auctioneer's block : 
 'Tis a thing of the past, — never more shall I see 
 
 But in memory that old school clock. 
 
 'Tis the way of the world : old friends pass away, 
 
 And fresh -faces arise in their stead ; 
 But still 'mid the din and the bustle of life 
 
 We cherish fond thoughts of the dead. 
 
THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 159 
 
 Yes, dear are those mem'ries : they 've clung round 
 my heart, 
 
 And bravely withstood Time's rude shock ; 
 But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now 
 
 Than the face of that old school clock. 
 
i6o 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 
 
 [The legend is taken from an old miracle-play of the fifteenth century, 
 a reference to which is to be found in Kev. Mr. Hudson's late excellent 
 book on Shakespeare's Times and Characters. The author had turned the 
 legend into verse before he perceived that it differed essentially from 
 the Scripture narrative, its aaitiquity misleading him.] 
 
 nr^HE day of Joseph's marriage unto Mary, 
 
 In thoughtful mood he said unto his wife, 
 " Behold, I go into a far-off country 
 
 To labor for thee, and to make thy life 
 And home all sweet and peaceful." And the Virgin 
 
 Unquestioning beheld her spouse depart : 
 Then Kved she many days of musing gladness, 
 Not knowing that God's hand was round her 
 heart. 
 
 And dreaming thus one day within her chamber, 
 She wept with speechless bliss, when lo ! the face 
 
 Of white-winged angel Gabriel rose before her, 
 And bowing spoke, " Hail ! Mary, full of grace, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. l6l 
 
 The Lord is with thee, and among the nations 
 Forever blessed is thy chosen name." 
 
 The angel vanished, and the Lord's liigh Presence 
 With untold glory to the Virgin came. 
 
 A season passed of joy unknown to mortals, 
 
 When Joseph came with what his toil had won, 
 And broke the brooding ecstasy of Mary, 
 
 Whose soul was ever with her promised Son. 
 But nature's jealous fears encircled Joseph, 
 
 And round his heart in darkening doubts held 
 sway. 
 He looked upon his spouse cold-eyed, and pondered 
 
 How he could put her from his sight away. 
 
 And once, when moody thus within his garden, 
 
 The gentle girl besought for some ripe fruit 
 That hung beyond her reach, the old man an- 
 swered. 
 With face averted, harshly to her suit : 
 " I will not serve thee, woman ! Thou hast wronged 
 me: 
 
1 62 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 I heed no more thy words and actions mild ; 
 If fruit thou wantest, thou canst henceforth ask it 
 From him, the father of thy unborn child ! " 
 
 But ere the words had root within her hearing, 
 
 The Virgin's face was glorified anew ; 
 And Joseph, turning, sank within her presence, 
 
 And knew indeed his wondrous dreams were 
 true. 
 For there before the sandalled feet of Mary 
 
 The kingly tree had bowed its top, and she 
 Had pulled and eaten from its prostrate branches, 
 
 As if unconscious of the mystery. 
 
163 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE ATLANTIC. 
 
 T7OR months and years, with penury and want 
 
 -■- And heart-sore envy did they dare to cope ; 
 
 And mite by mite was saved from earnings scant, 
 
 To buy, some future day, the God-sent hope. 
 
 They trod the crowded streets of hoary towns, 
 Or tilled from year to year the wearied fields, 
 
 And in the shadow of the golden crowns 
 
 They gasped for sunshine and the health it yields. 
 
 They turned from homes all cheerless, child and 
 man. 
 
 With kindly feelings only for the soil, 
 And for the kindred faces, pinched and wan, 
 
 That prayed, and stayed, unwilling, at their toil. 
 
 They lifted up their faces to the Lord, 
 
 And read His answer in the westering sun 
 
 That called them ever as a shining word, 
 And beckoned seaward as the rivers run. 
 
164 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Tliey looked their last, wet-eyed, on Swedish 
 hills, 
 
 On German villages and English dales ; 
 Like brooks that grow from many mountain rills 
 
 The peasant-stream flowed out from Irish vales. 
 
 Their grief at parting was not all a grief, 
 But blended sweetly with the joy to come, 
 
 When from full store they spared the rich relief 
 To gladden all the dear ones left at home. 
 
 " We thank thee, God ! " they cried ; " the cruel 
 gate 
 That barred our lives has swung beneath Thy 
 hand ; 
 Behind our ship now frowns the cruel fate, 
 
 Before her smiles the teeming Promised Land ! " 
 
 Alas ! when shown in mercy or in wrath, 
 How weak we are to read God's awful lore ! 
 
 His breath protected on the stormy path. 
 
 And dashed them lifeless on the promised 
 shore ! 
 
THE WRECK OF THE ATLANTIC. 165 
 
 His iiand sustained them in the partmg woe, 
 And gave bright vision to the heart of each ; 
 
 His waters bore them where tliey wished to go, 
 Then swept them seaward from the very beach ! 
 
 Their home is reached, their fetters now are riven, 
 Their humble toil is o'er, — their rest has come ; 
 
 A land was promised and a land is given, — 
 But, oh ! God help the waiting ones at home ! 
 
i66 
 
 WITHERED SNOWDROPS. 
 
 ' I ^HEY came in the early spring-days, 
 With the first refreshing showers ; 
 And I watched the growing beauty 
 Of the little drooping flowers. 
 
 They had no bright hues to charm me, 
 
 No gay painting to allure ; 
 But they made me think of angels, 
 
 They were all so white and pure. 
 
 In the early morns I saw them, 
 Dew-drops clinging to each bell. 
 
 And the first glad sunbeam hasting 
 Just to kiss them ere they fell. 
 
 Daily grew their spotless beauty ; 
 But I feared when chill winds blew 
 
WITHERED SNOWDROPS. 1 67 
 
 They were all too frail and tender, — 
 And alas ! my fears were true. 
 
 One glad morn I went to see them 
 While the bright drops gemmed their snow, 
 
 And one angel flower was withered, 
 Its fair petals drooping low. 
 
 Its white sister's tears fell on it, 
 
 And the sunbeam sadly shone ; 
 For its innocence was withered, 
 
 And its purity was gone. 
 
 Still I left it there ; I could not 
 
 Tear it rudely from its place ; 
 It might rise again, and summer 
 
 Might restore its vanished grace. 
 
 But my hopes grew weaker, weaker, 
 And my heart with grief was pained 
 
 When I knew it must be severed 
 From the innocence it stained. * 
 
1 68 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 I must take it from the pure ones : 
 Henceforth they must live apart. 
 
 But I could not cut my flow'ret — 
 My lost angel — from my heart. 
 
 Oft I think of that dead snowdrop, 
 Think with sorrow, when I meet, 
 
 Day by day, the poor lost flowers, — 
 Sullied snowdrops of the street. 
 
 They were pure once, loved and loving, 
 And there still lives good within. 
 
 Ah ! speak gently to them : harsh words 
 Will not lead them from their sin. 
 
 The are not like withered flowers 
 That can never bloom again : 
 
 They can rise, bright angel snowdrops, 
 Purified from every stain. 
 
169 
 
 THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. 
 
 CHICAGO, OCTOBER 9, 1871. 
 
 /'~^ AUNT in the midst of the prairie, 
 
 She who was once so fair ; 
 Charred and rent are her garments, 
 Heavy and dark hke cerements ; 
 Silent, but round her the air 
 Plaintively wails, " Miserere ! " 
 
 Proud like a beautiful maiden, 
 
 Art-like from forehead to feet. 
 
 Was she till pressed like a leman 
 
 Close to the breast of the demon, 
 Lusting for one so sweet. 
 
 So were her shoulders laden. 
 
lyo SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Friends she had, rich in her treasures : 
 Shall the old taunt be true, — 
 
 Fallen, they turn their cold faces, 
 
 Seeking new wealth-gilded places, 
 Saying we never knew 
 
 Aught of her smiles or her pleasures ? 
 
 Silent she stands on the prairie. 
 
 Wrapped in her fire-scathed sheet : 
 
 Around her, thank God ! is the Nation, 
 
 Weeping for her desolation, 
 
 Pouring its gold at her feet, 
 
 Answering her "Miserere I " 
 
 oJOic 
 
 BOSTON, NOVEMBER 9, 1872. 
 
 O broad-breasted Queen among Nations ! 
 
 O Mother, so strong in thy youth ! 
 Has the Lord looked upon thee in ire, 
 And willed thou be chastened by fire, 
 
 Without any ruth ? 
 
THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. ^7^ 
 
 Has the Merciful tired of His mercy, 
 
 And turned from thy sinning in wrath, 
 
 That the world with raised hands sees and pities 
 
 Thy desolate daughters, thy cities. 
 Despoiled on their path ? 
 
 One year since thy youngest was stricken : 
 
 Thy eldest lies stricken to-day. 
 Ah ! God, was thy wrath without pity. 
 To tear the strong heart from our city. 
 
 And cast it away ? 
 
 O Father ! forgive us our doubting ; 
 
 The stain from our weak souls efface ; 
 Thou rebukest, we know, but to chasten ; 
 Thy hand has but fallen to hasten 
 
 Keturn to thy grace. 
 
 Let us rise purified from our ashes 
 
 As sinners have risen who grieved ; 
 
 Let us show that twice-sent desolation 
 
 On every true heart in the nation 
 Has conquest achieved. 
 
172 
 
 THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 
 
 •npHERE is an old traditioiKsacred. held in Wex- 
 ford town, 
 That says : " Upon St. Martin's eve no net shall be 
 
 let down ; 
 No fishermen of Wexford shall, upon that holy day, 
 Set sail or cast a line within the scope of Wexford 
 
 Bay." 
 The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no 
 
 one could tell ; 
 And no one ever questioned, but the people kept it 
 
 well. 
 And never in man's memory was fisher known to 
 
 leave 
 The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's 
 
 Eve. 
 
THE FISHEJ^MEN OF WEXFORD. 173 
 
 Alas ! alas for Wexford ! once iipon that holy 
 
 day 
 Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of 
 
 the Bay. 
 The fishers and then? families stood out upon the 
 
 beach, 
 And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth 
 
 they might not reach. 
 Such shoal was never seen before, and keen regrets 
 
 went round — 
 Alas ! alas for Wexford ! Hark ! what is that 
 
 gratmg sound ? 
 The boats' keels on the shingle ! Mothers ! wives ! 
 
 ye well may grieve, — 
 The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin's 
 
 Eve! 
 
 " Oh, stay ye ! " cried the women wild. " Stay ! " 
 
 cried the men white-haired ; 
 " And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers 
 
 never dared. 
 
174 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 No man can thrive who tempts the Lord ! " 
 " Away ! " they cried : " the Lord 
 
 Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's re- 
 ward." 
 
 And scoffingly they said, " To-night our nets shall 
 sweep the Bay, 
 
 And* take the Saint who guards it, should he come 
 across our way ! " 
 
 The keels have touched the water, and the crews 
 are in each boat; 
 
 And on St. Martin's Eve the "Wexford fishers are 
 afloat ! 
 
 The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the 
 
 land. 
 On dark faces in the fishing-fleet and pale ones on 
 
 the strand, 
 As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward 
 
 the cries 
 Of kneeling wives and mothers with uplifted hands 
 
 and eyes. 
 
THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 1 75 
 
 " O Holy Virgin ! be their guard ! " the weeping 
 women cried; 
 
 The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats 
 cleave through the tide. 
 
 As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, 
 in a line 
 
 The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phos- 
 phor-lighted brine. 
 
 Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers ! All your prayers 
 they sorely need 
 
 To save them from the wrath they 've roused by 
 their rebellious greed. 
 
 Oh ! white-haired men and little babes, and weep- 
 ing sweethearts, pray 
 
 To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford 
 Bay! 
 
 The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the 
 
 nets are thrown, 
 The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing 
 
 sea wind's moan: 
 
176 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for 
 
 some return, 
 To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed 
 
 to mourn. 
 But ah ! the Wexford fishermen ! their nets did 
 
 scarcely sink 
 One inch below the foam, when, lo ! the daring 
 
 boatmen shrink 
 With sudden awe and whitened lips and glaring 
 
 eyes agape, 
 For breast-high, threatening, from the sea uprose a 
 
 Human Shape ! 
 
 Beyond them, — in the moonlight, — hand upraised 
 
 and awful mien, 
 Waving back and pointing landwards, breast-high 
 
 in the sea 'twas seen. 
 Thrice it waved and thrice it pointed, — then, with 
 
 clenchdd hand upraised, 
 The awful shape went down before the fishers as 
 
 they gazed ! 
 
THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 177 
 
 Gleaming whitely through, the water, fathoms deep 
 they saw its frown, — 
 
 They saw its white hand clenched above it, — sink- 
 ing slowly down ! 
 
 And then there was a rushing 'neath the b«g^, and 
 every soul 
 
 Was thrilled with greed: they knew it was the 
 seaward-going shoal ! 
 
 Defying the dread warning, every face was sternly 
 set, 
 
 And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul 
 the net. 
 
 But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, — God-fearing 
 men were they, — 
 
 They cut their lines and left theh nets, and home- 
 ward sped away; 
 
 But darkly rising sternwards did God's wrath in 
 tempest sweep. 
 
 And they, of all the jBshermen, that night escaped 
 the deep. 
 
 8* 
 
178 SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Oh, wives and mothers, sweethearts, sires! well 
 
 might ye mourn next day ; 
 For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of 
 
 Wexford Bay I 
 
179 
 
 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 T ONG time ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed 
 -■-^ away, — 
 
 As fair a ship as ever flung aside the laughing 
 
 spray. ' 
 Upon the shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were 
 
 in the air. 
 As to her, o'er the Zuyder Zee, went fond adieu 
 
 and prayer ; 
 And brave hearts, yearning shoreward from the 
 
 outward- going ship, 
 Felt lingering kisses clinging still to tear-wet cheek 
 
 and lip. 
 She iSteered for some far eastern clime, and, as she 
 
 slummed the seas. 
 Each taper mast was bending like a rod before the 
 
 breeze. 
 
l8o SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Her captain was a stalwart man, — an iron heart 
 
 had he, — 
 From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling 
 
 Zuyder Zee : 
 He nothing feared upon the earth, and scarcely 
 
 heaven feared. 
 He would have dared and done whatever mortal 
 
 man had dared ! 
 He looked aloft, where high in air the pennant cut 
 
 the blue. 
 And every rope and spar and sail was firm and 
 
 strong and true. 
 He turned him from the swelling sail to gaze upon 
 
 the shore, — 
 Ah ! httle thought the skipper then 'twould meet 
 
 his eye no more : 
 He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging 
 
 o'er his ship. 
 That Vanderdecken's name would yet make pale 
 
 the speaker's lip. 
 The vessel bounded on her way, and spire and 
 
 dome went down, — 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 151 
 
 Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the 
 
 distant town. 
 No more, no more, ye hapless crew, shall Holland 
 
 meet your eye. 
 In lingering hope and keen suspense, maid, wife, 
 
 and child shall die ! 
 
 Away, away the vessel speeds, till sea and sky 
 
 alone 
 Are round her, as her course she steers across the 
 
 torrid zone. 
 Away, until the North Star fades, the Southern 
 
 Cross is high, 
 And myriad gems of brightest beam are sparkling 
 
 in the sky. 
 The tropic winds are left behind ; she nears the 
 
 Cape of Storms, 
 Where awful Tempest ever sits enthroned in wild 
 
 alarms ; 
 Where Ocean in his anger shakes aloft his foamy 
 
 crest. 
 Disdainful of the weakly toys that ride upon his 
 
 breast. 
 
l82 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Fierce swell the winds and waters round tlie Dutch- 
 man's gallant ship, 
 
 But, to their rage, defiance rings from Vander- 
 decken's lip : 
 
 Impotent they to make him swerve, their might he 
 dares despise, 
 
 As straight he holds his onward course, and wind 
 and wave defies. 
 
 For days and nights he struggles in the wierd, 
 unearthly fight. 
 
 His brow is bent, his eye is fierce, but looks of deep 
 affright 
 
 Amongst the mariners go round, as hopelessly they 
 steer : 
 
 They do not dare to murmur, but they whisper 
 what they fear. 
 
 Their black-browed captain awes them : 'neath his 
 darkened eye they quail. 
 
 And in a grim and sullen mood their bitter fate 
 bewail. 
 
 As some fierce rider ruthless spurs a timid, wav- 
 ering horse. 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 1 83 
 
 He drives his shapely vessel, and they watch the 
 
 reckless course, 
 Till once again their skipper's laugh is flung upon 
 
 the blast : 
 The placid ocean smiles beyond, the dreaded Cape 
 
 is passed ! 
 
 Away across the Indian main the vessel northward 
 
 glides ; 
 A thousand murmuring ripples break along her 
 
 graceful sides : . 
 The perfumed breezes fill her sails, — her destined 
 
 port she nears, — 
 The captain's brow has lost its frown, the mariners 
 
 their fears. 
 " Land ho ! " at length the welcome sound the 
 
 watchful sailor sings, 
 And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor 
 
 swings. 
 Not idle then the busy crew : ere long the spacious 
 
 hold 
 Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with 
 
 silk and gold. 
 
184 SOiVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Again the ponderous anchor 's weighed ; the shore 
 is left behind, 
 
 The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favor- 
 ing wind. 
 
 Across the warm blue Indian sea the vessel south- 
 ward flies, 
 
 And once again the North Star fades and Austral 
 beacons rise. 
 
 For home she steers ! she seems to know and 
 answer to the word. 
 
 And swifter skims the burnished deep, like some 
 fair ocean- bird. 
 
 " For home ! for home ! " the merry crew with 
 gladsome voices cry, 
 
 And dark-browed Vanderdecken has a mild light 
 in his eye. 
 
 But once again the Cape draws near, and furious 
 billows rise ; 
 
 And still the daring Dutchman's laugh the hurri- 
 cane defies. 
 
 But wildly shrieked the tempest ere the scornful 
 sound had died, 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 185 
 
 A warning to the daring man to curb liis impious 
 
 ~ pride. 
 A crested mountain struck the ship, and like a 
 
 frighted bird 
 She trembled 'neath the awful shock. Then Van- 
 
 derdecken heard 
 A pleading voice within the gale, — his better an- 
 gel spoke, 
 But fled before his scowling look, as mast-high 
 
 mountains broke 
 Around the trembling vessel, till the crew with 
 
 terror paled; 
 But Vanderdecken never flinched, nor 'neath the 
 
 thunders quailed. 
 With folded arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger 
 
 in his eye. 
 He answered back the threatening frown that 
 
 lowered o'er the sky. 
 With fierce defiance in his heart, and scornful look 
 
 of flame. 
 He spoke, and thus with impious voice blasphemed 
 
 God's holy name : — 
 
l86 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 " Howl on, ye winds ! ye tempests, liowl ! your 
 
 rage is spent in vain : 
 Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I '11 
 
 ride upon the main. 
 Defiance to your idle shrieks ! I '11 sail upon my 
 
 path: 
 I cringe not for thy Maker's smile, — I care not for 
 
 His wrath ! " 
 
 He ceased. An awful silence fell: the tempest 
 and the sea 
 
 Were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's 
 dread decree. 
 
 The ship was riding motionless within the gather- 
 ing gloom ; 
 
 The Dutchman stood upon the poop and heard liia 
 dreadful doom. 
 
 The hapless crew were on the deck in swooning 
 terror prone, — 
 
 They, too, were bound in fearful fate. In angered 
 thunder-tone 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 187 
 
 The judgment words swept o'er the sea : " Go, 
 
 wretch, accurst, condemned ! 
 Go sail for ever on the deep, by shrieking tempests 
 
 hemmed. 
 No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle 
 
 fav'ring breeze. 
 Shall ever greet thee. Go, accurst! and battle 
 
 with the seas ! 
 Go, braggart ! struggle with the storm, nor ever 
 
 cease to live. 
 But bear a million times the pangs that death and 
 
 fear can give. 
 Away ! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy 
 
 kind 
 Who ever see thee struggling, wretch, with ocean 
 
 and with wind. 
 Away, presumptuous worm of earth ! Go teach 
 
 thy fellow- worms 
 The awful fate that waits on him who braves the 
 
 King of Storms ! " 
 
l88 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning flash lit up the sea 
 and sky 
 
 Around and o'er the fated ship ; then rose a wail- 
 ing cry 
 
 From every heart within her, of keen anguish and 
 despair ; 
 
 But mercy was for them no more, — it died away 
 in air. 
 
 Once more the lurid light gleamed out, — the ship 
 
 was still at rest, 
 The crew were standing at their posts ; with arms 
 
 across his breast 
 Still' stood the captain on the poop, but bent and 
 
 crouching now 
 He bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his 
 
 swarthy brow 
 Swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years 
 
 of pain 
 Had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving, 
 
 angry main 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 1 89 
 
 The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry- 
 waters hissed 
 
 Their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes 
 had kissed. 
 
 And ever through the midnight storm that hapless 
 crew must speed : 
 
 They \xj to round the stormy Cape, but never can 
 succeed. 
 
 And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's 
 vivid sheen 
 
 Flashes back the ocean's anger, still the Phantom 
 Ship is seen 
 
 Ever sailing to the southward in the fierce tor- 
 nado's swoop, 
 
 With her ghostly crew and canvas, and her captain 
 on the poop. 
 
 Unrelenting, unforgiven ; and 'tis said that every 
 word 
 
 Of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is 
 heard ! 
 
 But Heaven help the ship near which the dismal 
 sailor steers, — 
 
190 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The doom of those is sealed to whom that Phan- 
 tom Ship appears : 
 
 They '11 never reach their destined port, — they '11 
 see their homes no more, — 
 
 They who see the Flying Dutchman — never, 
 never reach the shore ! 
 
IQI 
 
 UNCLE NED'S TALE. 
 
 AN OLD dragoon's STORY. 
 
 T OFTEN, musing, wander back to days long 
 
 since gone by. 
 And far-off scenes and long-lost forms arise to 
 
 fancy's eye. 
 A group familiar now I see, wlio all but one are 
 
 fled,— 
 My mother, sister Jane, myself, and dear old Uncle 
 
 Ned. • 
 I 'U tell you liow I see tbem now. First, mother 
 
 in her chair 
 Sits knitting by the parlor fire, with anxious matron 
 
 air; 
 My sister Jane, just nine years old, is seated at her 
 
 feet. 
 With look demure, as if she, too, were thinldng 
 
 how to meet 
 
192 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 The butcher's or the baker's bill, — though not a 
 
 thought has she 
 Of aught beside her girlish toys ; and next to her 
 
 I see 
 Myself, a sturdy lad of twelve, — neglectful of the 
 
 book 
 That open lies upon my knee, — my fixed admir- 
 
 mg look 
 At Uncle Ned, upon the left, whose upright, mar- 
 tial mien. 
 Whose empty sleeve and gray moustache, proclaim 
 
 what he has been. 
 My mother I had always loved; my father then 
 
 was dead ; 
 But 'twas more than love — 'twas worship — I felt 
 
 for Uncle Ned. 
 Such tales he had of battle-fields, — the victory 
 
 and the rout. 
 The ringing cheer, the dying shriek, the loud 
 
 exulting shout ! 
 And how, forgetting age and wounds, his eye 
 
 would kindle bright, 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 193 
 
 When telling of some desperate ride or close and 
 
 deadly fight ! 
 But oft I noticed, in the midst of some wild martial 
 
 tale, 
 To which I lent attentive ear, my mother's cheek 
 
 grow pale : 
 She sighed to see my kindled look, and feared I 
 
 might be led 
 To follow in the wayward steps of poor old Uncle 
 
 Ned. 
 But with all the wondrous tales he told, 'twas 
 
 strange I never heard 
 Of his last fight, for of that day he never spoke a 
 
 word. 
 And yet 'twas there he lost his arm, and once he 
 
 e'en confessed 
 'Twas there he won the glittering cross he wore 
 
 upon his breast. 
 It hung the centre of a group of Glory's emblems 
 
 fair. 
 And royal hands, he told me once, had placed the 
 
 bauble there. 
 
 9 
 
194 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Each day that passed I hungered more to hear 
 about that fight, 
 
 And oftentimes I prayed in vain. At length, one 
 winter's night, — 
 
 The very night I speak of now, — with more than 
 usual care 
 
 I filled his pipe, then took my stand beside my 
 uncle's chair ; 
 
 I fixed my eyes upon the Cross, — he saw my youth- 
 ful plan ; 
 
 And, smiling, laid the pipe aside and thus the tale 
 began : — 
 
 '* Well, boy, it was in summer time, and just at 
 
 morning's light 
 We heard the ' Boot and Saddle ! ' sound : the foe 
 
 was then in sight, 
 Just winding round a distant hill and opening on 
 
 the plain. 
 Each trooper looked with careful eye to girth and 
 
 curb and rein. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. IpS 
 
 We snatclied a hasty breakfast, — we were old 
 
 campaigners then : 
 That morn, of all our splendid corps, we 'd scarce 
 
 one hundred men ; 
 But they were soldiers, tried and true, who 'd 
 
 rather die than yield : 
 The rest were scattered far and wide o'er many a 
 
 hard-fought field. 
 Our trumpet now rang sharply out, and at a 
 
 swinging pace 
 "We left the bivouac behind ; and soon the eye 
 
 could trace 
 The columns moving o'er the plain. Oh ! 'twas a 
 
 stirring sight 
 To see two mighty armies there preparing for the 
 
 fight: 
 To watch the heavy masses, as, with practised, 
 
 steady wheel. 
 They opened out in slender lines of brightly flash- 
 ing steel. 
 Our place was on the farther flank, behind some 
 
 rising ground, 
 
196 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 That hid the stirring scene from view ; but soon a 
 
 booming sound 
 Proclaimed the opening of the fight. Then war's 
 
 loud thunder rolled, 
 And hurtling shells and whistling balls their deadly 
 
 message told. 
 We hoped to have a gallant day ; our hearts were 
 
 all aglow ; 
 We longed for one wild, sweeping charge, to chase 
 
 the fljing foe. 
 Our troopers marked the hours glide by, but still 
 
 no orders came : 
 They clutched their swords, and muttered words 
 
 'twere better not to name. 
 For hours the loud artillery roared, — the sun was 
 
 at its height, — 
 Still there we lay behind that hill, shut out from 
 
 all the fight ! 
 We heard the maddened charging yells, the ringing 
 
 British cheers, 
 And all the din of glorious war kept sounding in 
 
 our ears. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 197 
 
 Our hearts with, fierce impatience throbbed, we 
 
 cursed the very hill 
 That hid the sight : the evening fell, and we were 
 
 idle still. 
 The horses, too, were almost wild, and told with 
 
 angry snort 
 And blazing eye their fierce desire to join the 
 
 savage sport. 
 "When lower still the sun had sunk, and with it 
 
 all our hope, 
 A horseman, soiled with smoke and sweat, came 
 
 dashing down the slope. 
 He bore the wished-for orders. ' At last ! ' our 
 
 Colonel cried ; 
 And as he read the brief despatch his glance was 
 
 filled with pride. 
 Then he who bore the orders, in a low, emphatic 
 
 tone, 
 The stern, expressive sentence spoke, — ' Se said it 
 
 must he done ! ' 
 ' It shall be done ! ' our Colonel cried. ' Men, look 
 
 to strap and girth. 
 
198 solves FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 We 've work to do this day will prove what every 
 
 man is worth ; 
 Ay, work, my lads, will make amends for all our 
 
 long delay, — 
 The General says on us depends the fortune of the 
 
 day!' 
 
 " No order needed we to mount, — each man was 
 
 in his place. 
 And stern and dangerous was the look on every 
 
 veteran face. 
 "We trotted sharply up the hill, and halted on the 
 
 brow. 
 And then that glorious field appeared. Oh ! lad, 
 
 I see it now ! 
 But little time had we to spare for idle gazing then : 
 Beneath us, in the valley, stood a dark-clad mass of 
 
 men: 
 It cut the British line in two. Our Colonel shouted, 
 
 * There ! 
 Behold your work ! Our orders are to charge and 
 
 break that square ! ' 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 1 99 
 
 Each trooper drew a heavy breath, then gathered 
 
 up his reins, 
 And pressed the helmet o'er his brow \ the horses 
 
 tossed their manes 
 In protest fierce against the curb, and spurned the 
 
 springy heath, 
 Impatient for the trumpet's sound to bid them rush 
 
 to death. 
 
 " Well, boy, that moment seemed an hour : at last 
 
 we heard the words, — 
 ' Dragoons ! I know you '11 follow me. Ride steady, 
 
 men ! Draw swords ! ' 
 The trumpet sounded : off we dashed, at first with 
 
 steady pace, 
 But growing swifter as we went. Oh! 'twas a 
 
 gallant race ! 
 Three-fourths the ground was left behind : the loud 
 
 and thrilhng ' Charge ! ' 
 Rang out ; but, fairly frantic now, we needed not 
 
 to urffe 
 
200 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 With voice or rein our gallant steeds, or touch 
 
 their foaming flanks. 
 They seemed to fly. Now straight in front appeared 
 
 the kneeling ranks. 
 Above them waved a standard broad : we saw their 
 
 rifles raised, — 
 A moment more, with awful crash, the deadly 
 
 volley blazed. 
 The bullets wliistled through our ranks, and many 
 
 a trooper fell ; 
 But we were left. What cared we then ? but on- 
 ward rushing still ! 
 Again the crash roared fiercely out ; but on ! still 
 
 madly on ! 
 We heard the shrieks of dyiag men, but recked not 
 
 who was gone. 
 We gored the horses' foaming flanks, and on through 
 
 smoke and glare 
 We wildly dashed, with clenched teeth. We had 
 
 no thought, no care ! 
 Then came a sudden, sweeping rush. Again with 
 
 savaore heel 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 20I 
 
 I struck my horse : with awful bound lie rose right 
 o'er their steel ! 
 
 " Well, boy, I cannot tell you how that dreadful 
 
 leap was made. 
 But there I rode, inside the square, and grasped a 
 
 reeking blade. 
 I cared not that I was alone, my eyes seem filled 
 
 with blood : 
 I never thought a man could feel in such a mur- 
 derous mood. 
 I parried not, nor guarded thrusts ; I felt not pain 
 
 or wound. 
 But madly spurred the frantic horse, and swept my 
 
 sword around. 
 I tried to reach the standard sheet; but there at 
 
 last was foiled. 
 The gallant horse was jaded now, and from the 
 
 steel recoiled. 
 They saw his fright, and pressed him then : his 
 
 terror made him rear. 
 And falliagback he crushed their ranks, and broke 
 
 their guarded square ! 
 9* 
 
202 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 My comrades saw the gap lie made, and soon came 
 
 dashing in ; 
 They raised me up, — I felt no hurt, but mingled 
 
 m the din. 
 I 'd seen some fearful work before, but never was 
 
 engaged 
 In such a Avild and savage fight as now around me 
 
 raged. 
 The foe had ceased their firing, and now plied the 
 
 deadly steel : 
 Though all our men were wounded then, no pain 
 
 they seemed to feel. 
 No groans escaped from those who fell, but horrid 
 
 oaths instead, 
 And scowling looks of hate were on the features 
 
 of the dead. 
 The fight was round the standard : though outnum- 
 bered ten to one. 
 We held our ground, — ay, more than that, — we 
 
 still kept pushing on. 
 Our men now made a desperate rush to take the 
 
 flag by storm. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 203 
 
 I seized tlie pole, a blow came down and crushed 
 
 my outstretclied arm. 
 I felt a sudden thrill of pain, but that soon passed 
 
 away; 
 And, with a devilish thirst for blood, again I joined 
 
 the fray. 
 At last we rallied all our strength, and charged o'er 
 
 heaps of slain : 
 Some fought to death ; some wavered, — then fled 
 
 across the plam. 
 
 "Well, boy, the rest is all confused: there was a 
 
 fearful rout ; 
 I saw our troopers chase the foe, and heard their 
 
 maddened shout. 
 Then came a blank : my senses reeled, I know not 
 
 how I fell ; 
 I seemed to grapple with a foe, but that I cannot 
 
 tell. 
 My mind was gone : when it came back I saw the 
 
 moon on high ; 
 Around me all was still as death. I gazed up at 
 
 the sky, 
 
204 SOJVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And watclied the glimmering stars above, — so 
 
 quiet did they seem, — 
 And all that dreadful field appeared like some wild, 
 
 fearful dream. 
 But memory soon came back again, and cleared my 
 
 wandering brain, 
 And then from every joint and limb shot fiery darts 
 
 of pain. 
 My throat was parched, the burning tliirst increased 
 
 with every breath ; 
 I made no effort to arise, but wished and prayed for 
 
 death. 
 My bridle arm was broken, and lay throbbing on 
 
 the sward, 
 But something still my right hand grasped: 1 
 
 thought it was my sword. 
 I raised my hand to cast it off, — no reeking blade 
 
 was there ; 
 Then life and strength returned, — I held the 
 
 Standard of the Square ! 
 With bounding heart I gained my feet. Oh ! then 
 
 I wished to live. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 205 
 
 'Twas strange the strength and love of life that 
 standard seemed to give! 
 
 I gazed around : far down the vale I saw a camp- 
 fire's glow. 
 
 With wandering step I ran that way, — I recked 
 not friend or foe. 
 
 Though stumbling now o'er heaps of dead, now 
 o'er a stiffened horse, 
 
 I heeded not, but watched the light, and held my 
 onward course. 
 
 But soon that flash of strength had failed, and 
 checked my feverish speed; 
 
 Again my throat was all ablaze, my wounds began 
 to bleed. 
 
 I knew that if I fell again, my chance of life was 
 gone, 
 
 So, leaning on the standard-pole, I still kept strug- 
 gling on. 
 
 At length I neared the camp-fire : there were scar- 
 let jackets round, 
 
 And swords and brazen helmets lay strewn upon 
 the ground. 
 
2o6 SOJVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Some distance off, in order ranged, stood men, — 
 about a score : 
 
 God! 'twas all that now remained of my old 
 
 gallant corps ! 
 The muster-roll was being called: to every well- 
 known name 
 
 1 heard the solemn answer, — ' Dead ! ' At length 
 
 my own turn came. 
 
 I paused to hear, — a comrade answered, ' Dead ! 
 I saw liim fall ! ' 
 
 I could not move another step, I tried in vain to call. 
 
 My life was flowing fast, and all around was gather- 
 ing haze. 
 
 And o'er the heather tops I watched my comrades' 
 cheerful blaze. 
 
 I thought such anguish as I felt was more than man 
 could bear. 
 
 God ! it was an awful thing to die with help so 
 
 near! 
 And death was stealing o'er me : with the strength 
 of wild despair 
 
 1 raised the standard o'er my head, and waved it 
 
 through the air. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 207 
 
 Then all grew dim ; the fire, the men, all vanished 
 
 from my sight. 
 My senses reeled ; I know no more of that eventful 
 
 night. 
 'Twas weeks before my mind came back : I knew 
 
 not where I lay, 
 But kindly hands were round me, and old comrades 
 
 came each day. 
 They told me how the waving flag that night had 
 
 caught their eye, 
 And how they found me bleeding there, and thought 
 
 that I must die ; 
 They brought me all the cheering news, — the war 
 
 was at an end. 
 No wonder 'twas, with all their care, I soon began 
 
 to mend. 
 The General came to see me, too, with all his bril- 
 liant train. 
 But what he said, or how I felt, to tell you now 
 
 'twere vain. 
 Enough, I soon grew strong again : the wished-for 
 
 route had come, 
 
2oS SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And all the gallant veteran troops set out with 
 
 cheers for home. 
 We soon arrived ; and then, my lad, 'twould thriU 
 
 your heart to hear 
 How England welcomed home her sons with many 
 
 a ringing cheer. 
 But tush ! what boots it now to speak of what was 
 
 said or done ? 
 The victory was dearly bought, our bravest hearts 
 
 were gone. 
 Ere long the King reviewed us. Ah ! that memory 
 
 is sweet ! 
 They made me bear the foreign flag, and lay it at 
 
 his feet. 
 I parted from my brave old corps : 'twere matter, 
 
 lad, for tears, 
 To leave the kind old comrades I had ridden with 
 
 for years. 
 I was no longer fit for war, my wanderings had to 
 
 cease. 
 There, boy, I 've told you all my tales. Now let 
 
 me smoke in peace." 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALE. 209 
 
 How vivid grows tlie picture now ! liow bright 
 
 eacli scene appears ! 
 I trace eacli loved and long-lost face with eyes be- 
 
 dimmed in tears. 
 How plain I hear thee, Uncle Ned, and see thy 
 
 musing look. 
 Comparing all thy glory to the curling wreaths of 
 
 smoke ! 
 A truer, braver soldier ne'er for king and country 
 
 bled. 
 His wanderings are for ever o'er. God rest thee, 
 
 Uncle Ned I 
 
2IO 
 
 UNCLE NED'S TALES. 
 
 HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED.* 
 
 V I ^WAS a dismal winter's evening, fast without 
 
 -*- came down the snow, 
 But within, the cheerful fire cast a ruddy, genial 
 
 glow 
 O'er our pleasant little parlor, that was then my 
 
 mother's pride. 
 There she sat beside the glowing grate, my sister 
 
 by her side ; 
 And beyond, within the shadow, in a cosy little 
 
 nook 
 Uncle Ned and I were sitting, and in whispering 
 
 tones we spoke. 
 I was asking for a story he had promised me to 
 
 tell,— 
 
 * An inciJent from the record of the Enniskillen Dragoons in 
 Spain, imder General Picton. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 211 
 
 Of liis comrade, old Dick Hilton, liow lie fought 
 and liow he fell ; 
 
 And with eager voice I pressed him, till a mighty 
 final cloud 
 
 Blew he slowly, then upon his breast his grisly 
 head he bowed. 
 
 And, musing, stroked his gray mustache ere he 
 began to speak, 
 
 Then brushed a tear that stole along his bronzed 
 and furrowed cheek. 
 
 " Ah, no ! I will not speak to-night of that sad 
 tale," he cried : 
 
 " Some other time I '11 tell you, boy, about that 
 splendid ride. 
 
 Your words have set me thinking of the many care- 
 less years 
 
 That comrade rode beside me, and have caused 
 these bitter tears ; 
 
 For I loved him, boy, — for twenty years we gal- 
 loped rein to rein, — 
 
 In peace and war, through all that time, stanch 
 comrades had we been. 
 
212 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 As boys we rode together when our soldiering first 
 
 began, 
 And in all those years I knew him for a true and 
 
 trusty man. 
 One who never swerved from danger, — for he knew 
 
 not how to fear, — 
 If grim Death arrayed his legions, Dick would 
 
 charge him with a cheer. 
 He was happiest in a struggle or a wild and dan- 
 gerous ride : 
 Every inch a trooper was he, and he cared for 
 
 naught beside. 
 He was known for many a gallant deed : to-night 
 
 I '11 tell you one. 
 And no braver feat of arms was by a soldier ever 
 
 done. 
 'Twas when we were 3^oung and fearless, for 'twas 
 
 in our first campaign. 
 When we galloped through the orange groves and 
 
 fields of sunny Spain. 
 Our wary old commander was retiring from the 
 
 foe, 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 21 S 
 
 Who came pressing close upon us, with a proud, 
 
 exulting show. 
 "We could hear their taunting laughter, and within 
 
 our very sight 
 Did they ride defiant round us, — ay, and dared us 
 
 to the fight. 
 But brave old Picton heeded not, but held his 
 
 backward track, 
 And smiling said the day would come to pay the 
 
 Frenchmen back. 
 And come it did : one morning, long before the 
 
 break of day. 
 We were standing to our arms, all ready for the 
 
 coming fray. 
 Soon the sun poured down his glory on the hostile 
 
 lines arrayed. 
 And his beams went flashing brightly back from 
 
 many a burnished blade, 
 Soon to change its spotless lustre for a reeking 
 
 crimson stain, 
 In some heart, then throbbing proudly, that will 
 
 never throb again 
 
214 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 When that sun has reached his zenith, life and 
 
 pride will then have fled, 
 And his beams will mock in splendor o'er the 
 
 ghastly heaps of dead. 
 Oh, 'tis sad to think how many but I wander, 
 
 lad, I fear ; 
 And, though the moral's good, I guess the tale 
 
 you 'd rather hear. 
 Well, I said that we were ready, and the foe was 
 
 ready, too ; 
 Soon the fight was raging fiercely, — thick and fast 
 
 the bullets flew, 
 With a bitter hiss of malice, as if hungry for the 
 
 life 
 To be torn from manly bosoms in the maddening 
 
 heat of strife. 
 Distant batteries were thundering, pouring grape 
 
 and shell like rain. 
 And the cruel missiles hurtled with their load of 
 
 death and j)ain, 
 Which they carried, hke fell demons, to the heart 
 
 of some brigade, 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 215 
 
 Where the sudden, awful stillness told the havoc 
 
 they had made. 
 Thus the struggle raged tiU noon, and neither side 
 
 could vantage show ; 
 Then the tide of battle turned, and swept in favor 
 
 of the foe ! 
 Fiercer still the cannon thundered, — wilder 
 
 screamed the grape and shell, — 
 Onward pressed the French battalions, — back the 
 
 British masses fell ! 
 Then, as on its prey devoted, fierce the hungered 
 
 vulture swoops. 
 Swung the foeman's charging squadrons down upon 
 
 our broken troops. 
 Victory hovered o'er their standard, — on they 
 
 swept with maddened shout. 
 Spreading death and havoc round them, tiU retreat 
 
 was changed to rout ! 
 'Twas a saddening sight to witness ; and, when 
 
 Pic ton saw them fly. 
 Grief and shame were mixed and burning in the 
 
 old commander's eye. 
 
2l6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 We were riding in his escort, close behind him, on 
 
 a height 
 Which the fatal field commanded ; thence we 
 
 viewed the growing flight. 
 
 " But, my lad, I now must tell you something more 
 about that hill, 
 
 And I '11 try to make you see the spot as I can see 
 it stiU. 
 
 Right before us, o'er the battle-field, the fall was 
 sheer and steep ; 
 
 On our left the ground fell sloping, in a pleasant, 
 grassy sweep, 
 
 Where the aides went dashing swiftly, bearing 
 orders to and fro. 
 
 For by that sloping side alone they reached the 
 plain below. 
 
 On our right — now pay attention, boy — a yawn- 
 ing fissure lay, 
 
 As if an earthquake's shock had split the moun- 
 tain's side away. 
 
 And in the dismal gulf, far down, we heard the 
 angry roar 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 217 
 
 Of a foaming mountain torrent, that, mayhap, the 
 
 cleft had wore. 
 As it rushed for countless ages through its black 
 
 and secret lair ; 
 But no matter how 'twas formed, my lad, the 
 
 yawning gulf was there. 
 And from the farther side a stone projected o'er the 
 
 gorge, — 
 'Twas strange to see the massive rock just balanced 
 
 on the verge ; 
 It seemed as if an eagle's weight the ponderous 
 
 mass of stone 
 Would topple from its giddy height, and send it 
 
 crashing down. 
 It stretched far o'er the dark abyss ; but, though 
 
 'twere footing good, 
 'Twas twenty feet or more from off the side on 
 
 which we stood. 
 Beyond the cleft a gentle slope went down and 
 
 joined the plain, — 
 Now, lad, back to where we halted, and again 
 
 resume the rein. 
 
 10 
 
2l8 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 I said our troops were routed. Far and near they 
 
 broke and fled, 
 The grape-shot tearmg through them, leaving lanes 
 
 of mangled dead. 
 All order lost, they left the fight, — they threw 
 
 their arms away, 
 And joined in one wild panic rout, — ah ! 'twas a 
 
 bitter day ! 
 
 " But did I say that all was lost ? Nay, one brave 
 
 corps stood fast. 
 Determined they would never fly, but fight it to 
 
 the last. 
 They barred the Frenchman from his pre}', and 
 
 his whole fury braved, — 
 One brief hour could they hold their ground, the 
 
 army might be saved. 
 Fresh troops were hurrying to our aid, — we saw 
 
 their glittering head, — 
 Ah, God ! how those brave hearts were raked by 
 
 the death-shower of lead ! 
 But stand thc}^ did : they never flinched nor took 
 
 one backward stiide, 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 219 
 
 They sent their bayonets home, and then with 
 
 stubborn courage died. 
 But few were left of that brave band when the 
 
 dread hour had passed, 
 Still, faint and few, they held their flag above them 
 
 to the last. 
 But now a cloud of horsemen, like a shadowy 
 
 avalanche, 
 Sweeps down : as Picton sees them, e'en his cheek 
 
 is seen to blanch. 
 They were not awed, that little band, but rallied 
 
 once again. 
 And sent us back a farewell cheer. Then burst 
 
 from reckless men 
 The anguished cry, ' God help them ! ' as we saw 
 
 the feeble flash 
 Of their last defiant volley, when upon them with 
 
 a crash 
 Burst the gleaming lines of riders, — one by one 
 
 they disappear. 
 And the chargers' hoofs are trampling on the last 
 
 of that brave square ! 
 
220 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 On swept the squadrons ! Then we looked where 
 last the band was seen : 
 
 A scarlet heap was all that marked the place where 
 they had been ! 
 
 Still forward spurred the horsemen, eager to com- 
 plete the rout ; 
 
 But our lines had been re-formed now, and five 
 thousand guns belched out 
 
 A reception to the squadrons, — rank on rank was 
 piled that day. 
 
 Every bullet hissed out ' Vengeance ! ' as it whis- 
 tled on its way. 
 
 " And now it was, with maddened hearts, we saw 
 
 a galling sight : 
 A French hussar was riding close beneath us on 
 
 the right, — 
 He held a British standard ! With insulting shout 
 
 he stood. 
 And waved the flag, — its heavy folds drooped 
 
 down with shame and blood, — 
 The blood of hearts unconquered : 'twas the flag 
 
 of the stanch corps 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 221 
 
 That ]iad fougiit to death beneath it, — it was heavy 
 
 with their gore. 
 The foreign dog ! I see him as he holds the 
 
 standard down, 
 And makes his charger trample on its colors and 
 
 its crown ! 
 But his life soon paid the forfeit: with a cry of 
 
 rage and pain, 
 Hilton dashes from the escort, like a tiger from his 
 
 chain. 
 Nought he sees but that insulter ; and he strikes 
 
 his frightened horse 
 With his clenched hand, and spurs him, with a 
 
 bitter-spoken curse. 
 Straight as bullet from a rifle — but, great Lord! 
 
 he has not seen. 
 In his angry thirst for vengeance, the black gulf 
 
 that lies between ! 
 AH our warning shouts unheeded, starkly on he 
 
 headlong rides. 
 And lifts his horse, with bloody spurs deep buried 
 
 in his sides. 
 
222 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 God's mercy ! does he see the gulf? Ha ! now his 
 
 purpose dawns 
 Upon our minds, as nearer still the rocky fissure 
 
 yawns : 
 Where from the farther side the stone leans o'er 
 
 the stream beneath, 
 He means to take the awful leap ! Cold horror 
 
 checks our breath. 
 And still and mute we watch him now : he nears 
 
 the fearful place ; 
 We hear him shout to cheer the horse, and keep 
 
 the headlong pace. 
 Then comes a rush, — short strides, — a blow ! — 
 
 the horse bounds wildly on. 
 Springs high in air o'er the abyss, and lands 
 
 upon the stone ! 
 It trembles, topples 'neath their weight ! it sin^s ! 
 
 ha ! bravely done ! 
 Another spring, — they gain the side, — the pon- 
 derous rock is gone 
 With crashing roar, a thousand feet, down to the 
 
 flood below, 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 223 
 
 And Hilton, heedless of its noise, is riding at the 
 foe ! 
 
 " The Frenchman stared in wonder : he was brave, 
 and would not run, 
 
 'Twould merit but a coward's brand to turn and 
 fly from one. 
 
 But still he shuddered at the glance from 'neath 
 that knitted brow : 
 
 He knew 'twould be a death fight, but there was 
 no shrinking now. 
 
 He pressed his horse to meet the shock : straight at 
 him Hilton made, 
 
 And as they closed the Frenchman's cut fell harm- 
 less on his blade ; 
 
 But scarce a moment's time had passed ere, spur- 
 ring from the field, 
 
 A troop of cuirassiers closed round and called on 
 him to yield. 
 
 One glance of scorn he threw them, — all his answer 
 in a frown, — 
 
 And riding at their leader with one sweep he cut 
 him down ; 
 
224 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 Then aimed at him who held the flag a cut of 
 
 crushing might, 
 And split him to the very chin ! — a horrid, ghastly 
 
 sight ! 
 He seized the standard from his hand ; but now 
 
 the Frenchmen close. 
 And that stout soldier, all alone, fights with a 
 
 hundred foes ! 
 They cut and cursed, — a dozen swords were whis- 
 tling round his head ; 
 He could not guard on every side, — from fifty 
 
 wounds he bled. 
 His sabre crashed through helm and blade, as 
 
 though it were a mace ; 
 He cut their steel cuirasses and he slashed them 
 
 o'er the face. 
 One tall dragoon closed on him, but he wheeled 
 
 his horse around. 
 And cloven through the helmet went the trooper 
 
 to the ground. 
 But his sabre blade was broken by the fury of the 
 
 blow. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 225 
 
 And he hurled the useless, bloody hilt against the 
 
 nearest foe ; 
 Then furled the colors round the pole, and, like a 
 
 levelled lance, 
 He charged with that red standard through the 
 
 bravest troops of France ! 
 His horse, as lion-hearted, scarcely needed to be 
 
 urged. 
 And steed and rider bit the dust before him as he 
 
 charged. 
 Straight on he rode, and down they went, till he 
 
 had cleared the ranks, 
 Then once again he loosed the rein and struck his 
 
 horse's flanks. 
 A cheer broke from the French dragoons, — a loud, 
 
 admiring shout ! — - 
 As off he rode, and o'er him shook the tattered 
 
 colors out. 
 Still might they ride him down : they scorned to fire 
 
 or to pursue, — 
 Brave hearts ! they cheered him to our lines, — »- 
 
 their army cheering, too ! 
 10* 
 
2 26 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 
 
 And we — what did we do ? you ask. Well, boy, 
 
 we did not clieer, 
 Nor not one sound of welcome reached our hero 
 
 comrade's ear ; 
 But, as he rode along the ranks, each soldier's head 
 
 was bare, — 
 Our hearts were far too full for cheers, — we wel- 
 comed him with prayer. 
 Ah ! boy, we loved that dear old flag, — ay, loved 
 
 it so, we cried 
 Like children, as we saw it wave in all its tattered 
 
 pride ! 
 No, boy, no cheers to greet him, though he played 
 
 a noble part, — 
 We only prayed ' God bless him ! ' but that prayer 
 
 came from the heart. 
 He knew we loved him for it, — he could see it in 
 
 our tears, — 
 And such silent earnest love as that is better, boy, 
 
 than cheers. 
 Next day we fought the Frenchman, and we drove 
 
 him back, of course. 
 
UNCLE NED'S TALES. 227 
 
 Though we lost some goodly soldiers, and old Pic- 
 ton lost a horse. 
 
 But there I 've said enough : your mother's warn- 
 ing finger shook, — 
 
 Mind, never be a soldier, boy ! — now let me have 
 a smoke." 
 
 Cambridge ; Press of John Wilson and Son. 
 
^ffeje'?8 
 
 

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