Lost at Sea

SWEET sister, as the years roll by,I miss thee from my side;Thy counsels and thy company,Thy voice, thy heart to guide;Just when the heavy clouds beganTo gather round my head,Just when I needed most thy care,They whispered thou wert dead.

The ship,—alas! that dreadful day—We waited by the strand,To see it bear thy form awayFrom this our native land;'Twas in the early spring, when birdsMake musical the air;They seemed to mock our parting words,And, too, our parting prayer.

How radiant with hope thy brow!With love thy heart how warm!But O, beloved sister, nowWhere rests thy lovely form?

No tidings ever came to me,And weary years have sped;Alas! alas! and this may beTill seas give up their dead.

No token here to gaze upon,Not e'en a lock of hair,Which fell in sunny braids, aroundThy beauteous face so fair.·····