Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Orphans' Voyage Home

The Orphans' Voyage Home.

The men could hardly keep the deck, so bitter was the night:Keen north-east winds sang through the shrouds, the deck was frosty white;While overhead the glistening stars put forth their points of light.

On deck, behind a bale of goods, two orphans crouched to sleep;But 'twas so cold the younger boy in vain tried not to weep;They were so poor they had no right near cabin-doors to creep.

The elder round the younger wrapped his little ragged cloak,To shield him from the freezing sleet, and surf that o'er them broke;Then drew him closer to his side, and softly to him spoke:—

"The night will not be long," he said; "and if the cold winds blow,We shall the sooner reach our home, and see the peat-fire glow;But now the stars are beautiful—oh, do not tremble so!

"Come closer—sleep—forget the frost—think of the morning red!—Our father and our mother soon will take us to their bed;And in their warm arms we shall sleep!" He knew not they were dead.

For them no father to the ship shall with the morning come;For them no mother's loving arms are spread to take them home;Meanwhile the cabin passengers in dreams of pleasure roam.

At length the orphans sank to sleep upon the freezing deck,Close huddled side to side—each arm clasped round the other's neck;With heads bent down, they dreamed the earth was fading to a speck.

The steerage passengers have all been taken down below,And round the stove they warm their limbs into a drowsy glow;And soon within their berths forget the icy wind and snow.

Now morning dawns: the land in sight, smiles beam on every face!The pale and qualmy passengers begin the deck to pace,Seeking along the sun-lit cliffs some well-known spot to trace.

Only the orphans do not stir, of all this bustling train:They reached their home that starry night! they will not stir again!The winter's breath proved kind to them, and ended all their pain.

But in their deep and freezing sleep clasped rigid to each other,In dreams they cried, "The bright morn breaks! Home, home is here, my brother!The angel Death has been our friend!—wo come! dear father! mother!"