438 THE HUNTING GROUNDS 



HOMEWARD BOUND* 



The sun was sinking in the west 



Below the deep blue sea; 

 His rays still gilt the billows' crest. 



And land lay on our lee. 

 Darkly it loom'd above the wave. 



As twilight gather'd round ; 

 Each heart was sad, each soldier grave, 



Though we were homeward bound. 



For one all loved lay on the deck, 



Who never would rise more ; 

 His eys were fix'd on that dark speck 



They said was England's shore. 

 His brow was chill — all pain was past — 



Tears stood in every eye ; 

 The shades of death were gathering fast— 



His time was come to die. 



His heart was in his father's hall. 

 He fancied friends were nigh ; 



At times he 'd on his mother call, 

 And bid her not to sigh. 



* The preceding lines were written from an incident during 

 the late war, an account of which appeared in one of the Eng- 

 lish newspapers, A transport, conveying the wounded soldiers 

 from the Crimea, had been telegraphed as having arrived at 

 Spithead. No sooner was the anchor down than the vessel was 

 crowded by the friends and relatives of the invalids, and among 

 them came an old gentleman to look after the disembarkation 

 of his only son, a youth of eighteen, who had been reported 

 among the severely wounded. On arrival on board, the afflicted 

 father was told that his son had breathed his last the evening 

 before, within sight of land. The shock was too great for the 

 old man to bear, and he died suddenly on hearing the news. 



