The Sea Boy

"Up the main top-mast, ho!"The storm was loud,And the deep midnight muffled up her head,Leaving no ray. By the red binnacleI saw the sea-boy. His young cheek was pale,And his lip trembled. But he dared not hearThat hoarse command repeated. So he sprang,With slender foot, amid the slippery shrouds.He, oft, by moonlight-watch, had lured my earWith everlasting stories of his homeAnd of his mother. His fair brow told talesOf household kisses, and of gentle handsThat bound it when it ached, and laid it downOn the soft pillow, with a curtaining care.And he had sometimes spoken of the cheerThat waited him, when wearied from his school,At winter's eve, he came. Then he would pauseFor his high-beating bosom threw a chainO'er his proud lip, or else it would have sighedA deep remorse for leaving such a home.And he would haste away, and pace the deckMore rapidly, as if to hide from meThe gushing tear. I marked the inward strifeUnquestioning, save by a silent prayer,That the tear wrung so bitterly, might workThe sea-boy's good and wash away all traceOf disobedience. Now, the same big tearHung like a pearl upon him, as he climbedAnd grappled to the mast. I watched his toil,

With strange foreboding, till he seemed a speckUpon the ebon bosom of the cloud.And I remembered that he once had said,"I fear I shall not see my home again:"And sad the memory of those mournful words,Dwelt with me, as he passed above my sightInto thick darkness.The wild blast swept on,The strong ship tossed.Shuddering, I heard a plungeA heavy plunge—a gurgling 'mid the wave.I shouted to the crew. In vain! In vain!The ship held on her way. And never moreShall that poor, delicate sea-boy raise his headTo do the bidding of those roughened men,Whose home is on the sea. And never moreMay his fond mother strain him to her breast,Weeping that hardship thus should bronze the browTo her so beautiful—nor the kind sireMake glad, by his forgiveness, the rash youthWho wandered from his home, to throw the wealthOf his warm feelings on the faithless sea.