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nearest messmate told his sire, who threw

      One glance at him, and said, 'Heaven's will be done!

      I can do nothing,' and he saw him thrown

      Into the deep without a tear or groan.

      The other father had a weaklier child,

      Of a soft cheek and aspect delicate;

      But the boy bore up long, and with a mild

      And patient spirit held aloof his fate;

      Little he said, and now and then he smiled,

      As if to win a part from off the weight

      He saw increasing on his father's heart,

      With the deep deadly thought that they must part.

      And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

      His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam

      From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed,

      And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come,

      And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,

      Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,

      He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain

      Into his dying child's mouth—but in vain.

      The boy expired—the father held the clay,

      And look'd upon it long, and when at last

      Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay

      Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,

      He watch'd it wistfully, until away

      'T was borne by the rude wave wherein 't was cast;

      Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering,

      And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

      Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through

      The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea,

      Resting its bright base on the quivering blue;

      And all within its arch appear'd to be

      Clearer than that without, and its wide hue

      Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free,

      Then changed like to a bow that 's bent, and then

      Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.

      It changed, of course; a heavenly chameleon,

      The airy child of vapour and the sun,

      Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,

      Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun,

      Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion,

      And blending every colour into one,

      Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle

      (For sometimes we must box without the muffle).

      Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omen—

      It is as well to think so, now and then;

      'T was an old custom of the Greek and Roman,

      And may become of great advantage when

      Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men

      Had greater need to nerve themselves again

      Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope—

      Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.

      About this time a beautiful white bird,

      Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size

      And plumage (probably it might have err'd

      Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes,

      And tried to perch, although it saw and heard

      The men within the boat, and in this guise

      It came and went, and flutter'd round them till

      Night fell: this seem'd a better omen still.

      But in this case I also must remark,

      'T was well this bird of promise did not perch,

      Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark

      Was not so safe for roosting as a church;

      And had it been the dove from Noah's ark,

      Returning there from her successful search,

      Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,

      They would have eat her, olive-branch and all.

      With twilight it again came on to blow,

      But not with violence; the stars shone out,

      The boat made way; yet now they were so low,

      They knew not where nor what they were about;

      Some fancied they saw land, and some said 'No!'

      The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt—

      Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,

      And all mistook about the latter once.

      As morning broke, the light wind died away,

      When he who had the watch sung out and swore,

      If 't was not land that rose with the sun's ray,

      He wish'd that land he never might see more;

      And the rest rubb'd their eyes and saw a bay,

      Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore;

      For shore it was, and gradually grew

      Distinct, and high, and palpable to view.

      And then of these some part burst into tears,

      And others, looking with a stupid stare,

      Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,

      And seem'd as if they had no further care;

      While a few pray'd (the first time for some years)—

      And at the bottom of the boat three were

      Asleep: they shook them by the hand and head,

      And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.

      The day before, fast sleeping on the water,

      They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,

      And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her,

      Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind

      Proved even still a more nutritious matter,

      Because it left encouragement behind:

      They thought that in such perils, more than chance

      Had sent them this for their deliverance.

      The land appear'd a high and rocky coast,

      And higher grew the mountains as they drew,

      Set by a current, toward it: they were lost

      In various conjectures, for none knew

      To what part of the earth they had been tost,

      So changeable had been the winds that blew;

      Some thought it was Mount AEtna, some the highlands,

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