OF THE OLD WOKLD. 439 



We heard him try to breathe the prayer 



Which she perchance had taught : 

 Veterans wept as they stood there, 



With whom that boy had fought. 



The night closed round — a mournful wail 



Was heard along the deep ; 

 To all on board it told the tale — 



Our friend had sunk to sleep. 

 Bright morning broke — the freshening breeze 



Our good ship onward bore ; 

 We saw the cliffs and stately trees 



Of dear Old England's shore. 



The anchor fell with grating sound, 



Our perils now were o'er, 

 And dear ones greet the homeward-bound 



They 'd thought to see no more. 

 Friends crowded round : one hale old man 



Gazed on with troubled air; 

 Each soldier's face he seem'd to scan, 



But no one knew him there. 



A-t last he breathed the lost one's name — 



Each soldier turn'd away. 

 Again he ask'd — the captain came, 



But knew not what to say. 

 A tear roU'd from the sailor's eye — 



He pointed o'er his head, 

 Where Britain's banner, half mast high, 



Proclaim'd that one was dead. 



He took the mourner by the hand, 



And led him to the corse ; 

 Surrounded by our weeping band, 



He told him of his loss. 

 The old man kiss'd the pallid cheek, 



And knelt down by the dead, 

 As if in prayer : he did not speak. 



He rose not — life had fled. 



