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Her promised letter came, and told of days
Doleful at first, for rough the vessel's ways,
Then pleasant sailing o'er the sunlit sea
Through lengthy days of calm monotony;
Told of the beauty of each tranquil night,
Lit by the silver moon's most glorious light;
Her fellow passengers of many a race
(What diverse traits were pictured in each face!),
The change of steamers, and the lovely isles
Passed as they steered the final southward miles;
Told of the welcome to her home to be,
The kind and hearty hospitality;
Barbados' wealth of tropic loveliness,
Too rare, too varied, fully to express;
The fierce heat, tempered by the ocean-breeze,
The rich luxuriance of plants and trees,
Flamboyant, frangipani, breadfruit, palm,
And fields of sugar-cane,—a novel farm;
The chalky roads, so dazzlingly white,
The gold and purple sunsets,—oh, so bright!
The Sabbath service, homelike and so dear,
And yet so strange to her did it appear,
The numerous darkies in their white attire,
The woolly heads of the black, white-robed choir.
And then she spoke of her enlarging thought,
With faith sublime, and deepening gladness fraught;
Love messages were sent, and a request
For frequent news of all that she loved best;
So well, so strong was she, so full of fun,
So much she longed to see her work begun,
So fair a future for her there seemed stored,
One lament only,—fever was abroad.
Doleful at first, for rough the vessel's ways,
Then pleasant sailing o'er the sunlit sea
Through lengthy days of calm monotony;
Told of the beauty of each tranquil night,
Lit by the silver moon's most glorious light;
Her fellow passengers of many a race
(What diverse traits were pictured in each face!),
The change of steamers, and the lovely isles
Passed as they steered the final southward miles;
Told of the welcome to her home to be,
The kind and hearty hospitality;
Barbados' wealth of tropic loveliness,
Too rare, too varied, fully to express;
The fierce heat, tempered by the ocean-breeze,
The rich luxuriance of plants and trees,
Flamboyant, frangipani, breadfruit, palm,
And fields of sugar-cane,—a novel farm;
The chalky roads, so dazzlingly white,
The gold and purple sunsets,—oh, so bright!
The Sabbath service, homelike and so dear,
And yet so strange to her did it appear,
The numerous darkies in their white attire,
The woolly heads of the black, white-robed choir.
And then she spoke of her enlarging thought,
With faith sublime, and deepening gladness fraught;
Love messages were sent, and a request
For frequent news of all that she loved best;
So well, so strong was she, so full of fun,
So much she longed to see her work begun,
So fair a future for her there seemed stored,
One lament only,—fever was abroad.
Soon came a letter in an unknown hand,—
Ada was prostrate in that distant land;—
Another quickly followed, and we read
The sad, sad words that told us she was dead.
Ada was prostrate in that distant land;—
Another quickly followed, and we read
The sad, sad words that told us she was dead.
Oh, the sad tears that rose to many an eye
That she so soon, so young, so lone, should die!
That she so soon, so young, so lone, should die!
