392 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
VII. 
Soon a crowd of small boats flutter 
O’er the intervening space. 
Bearing hearts too full to utter— 
Thoughts that flush the eager face! 
See young Eric foremost gaining— 
(For a father’s love athirst!) 
Every nerve and muscle straining, 
But to touch the dear hand first. 
VIII. 
In the ship’s green shadow rocking 
Lies his little boat at last: 
Wherefore is the warm heart knocking 
At his side, so loud and fast ? 
“ What strange aspect is she wearing, 
Vessel once so taut and trim? 
Shout!— my heart has lost its daring, 
Comrades, search!— my eyes are dim.” 
IX. 
Sad the search, and fearful finding! 
On the deck lay parched and dry. 
Men—who in some burning blinding 
Clime—had lain them down to die ! 
Hands—prayer-clenched—that would not sever, 
Eyes that stared against the sun. 
Sights that haunt the soul for ever. 
Poisoning life—till life is done ! 
