"Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures"--
Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see;
But she sunk on the ground--'twas a skeleton's features
And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye!
THE INDIAN BOAT.
'Twas midnight dark,
The seaman's bark,
Swift o'er the waters bore him,
When, thro' the night,
He spied a light
Shoot o'er the wave before him.
"A sail! a sail!" he cries;
"She comes from the Indian shore
"And to-night shall be our prize,
"With her freight of golden ore;
"Sail on! sail on!"
When morning shone
He saw the gold still clearer;
But, though so fast
The waves he past
That boat seemed never the nearer.
Bright daylight came,
And still the same
Rich bark before him floated;
While on the prize
His wishful eyes
Like any young lover's doted:
"More sail! more sail!" he cries,
While the waves overtop the mast;
And his bounding galley flies,
Like an arrow before the blast.
Thus on, and on,
Till day was gone,
And the moon thro' heaven did hie her,
He swept the main,
But all in vain,
That boat seemed never the nigher.
And many a day
To night gave way,
And many a morn succeeded:
While still his flight,
Thro day and night,
That restless mariner speeded.
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