108 THE SMUGGLER, 



me in mind, with your fears, of a song that wicked boy, little 

 Starlight, used to sing. I learned it from hearing him: a 

 more mischievous little dog does not live ; but he has got a 

 sweet pipe." 



"Sing it, John; sing itl" cried Kate; "I love to hear you 

 sing, for it seems as if you sing what you are thinking." 



" No, I won't sing it," answered Harding, " for it is a sad 

 sort of song, and that won't do when I am so happy." 



" Oh, I like sad songs 1" said the girl; "they please me 

 far more than all the merry ones." 



"Oh, pray sing it, Harding 1" urged the widow; "I am 

 very fond of a song that makes me cry." 



"This won't do that," replied the smuggler; "but it is 

 sadder than some that do, I always think. However, I'll 

 sing it, if you like;" and in a fine, mellow, base voice, to a 

 very simple air, with a flattened third coming in every now 

 and then, like the note of a wintry bird, he went on : 



SONG. 



" Life's like a boat, " Who heeds the deep, 



Rowing rowing Yawning yawning 



Over a bright sea, For its destined prey, 



On the waves to float, When from night's dark sleep, 



Flowing flowing Dawning dawning, 



Away from her lea. Wakens the bright day? 



" Up goes the sheet! "Away, o'er the tide! 



Sailing sailing, Fearless fearless 



To catch the rising breeze, Of all that lies beneath ; 



While the winds fleet, Let the waves still hide, 



Wailing wailing, Cheerless cheerless, 



Sigh o'er the seas. All their stores of death. 



" She darts through the waves, u Stray where we may, 



Gaily gaily, Roaming roaming 



Scattering the foam. Either far or near, 



Beneath her, open graves, Death is on the way, 



Daily daily, Coming coming : 



The blithest to entomb. Who's the fool to fear?" 



The widow did weep, however, not at the rude song, 

 though the voice that sung it was fine, and perfect in the 

 melody, but at the remembrances which it awakened ; remem- 

 brances on which she loved to dwell, although they were so 

 sad. 



" Ay, Harding," she said, " it's very true what your song 



