THE WIDOW'S SON.

During the last season I was called to visit an interesting young man at that time dangerously ill. He had been a seaman, and was on board the Barque Burlington, during her last voyage. This ship being loaded with cotton, and having a crew of fourteen hands, on March 10th, 1840, while in the Gulf Stream, was struck by lightning. The events stated in the following lines are literally true. I have in my possession the crucifix, and the journal kept by the young man.

THE Swallow skims the meadow ground,
The bloom is on the hawthorn spray,
The sky is fair, and all around

Seems fitting the sweet month of May.

The violet lifts its modest head,

The snow-drops their white buds unfold,
The clover shines like ruby red,

And butter-cups like stars of gold.

Nature hath now a magic spell,

To nerve the mind and soothe the heart;
But what of this know they, who dwell
Within the city's crowded mart?

Yet, even here, the softened air

Goes with a milder influence by,
To smooth the furrowed brow of care,
And change to joy sad sorrow's sigh.

Thus comes the breeze to one, who now
Watches beside her dying son;

She sees the death-dew on his brow,

She knows his course is well-nigh run.

Long has she felt a mother's love,

Has watched him from his earliest day; And here she leans in grief above, To see life's current ebb away.

That manly brow, that noble form,
Which nothing now from death can save,

Has met the fury of the storm

On land and on the ocean's wave.

"How often," did the mother say

"When he was on the stormy sea, Did I kneel down to God, and pray

That he might be restored to me."

"And then I felt if he were near,

Where I could rest upon his arm,
I should have nothing more to fear,
And he would be secure from harm."

"Yet now,

that he no more doth roam

Mid strangers 'neath a foreign sky,

But rests within his humble home,

"T is but to lay him down and die !"

"But God, He knoweth what is best, And should he take my only son,

I know his spirit will be blest,

And therefore may God's will be done."

Here, as to give her heart relief,

She stooped and kissed her darling child, She struggled with her inward grief,

Then raised her eyes to heaven

and smiled.

She felt the power of Holy Trust,
Of Christian Hopes that in her dwell,
Which, when a loved one rests in dust,
Can bow, and feel that all is well.

She would not cherish idle fears,

Nor yield her heart to anguish wild ;

But smiling oft amid her tears,

She calmly talked about her child.

She said that even while a boy,

Though poor, his feelings were refined,

And that he asked no greater joy,

Than he from his pure thoughts could find ;

And often in his boyish dream,

With simple feelings bright and free, He floated down the inland stream, And fancied it the heaving sea;

And he would read of those who sail,
With fearless heart and daring high,
Mid howling storm, and rushing gale,
And tempests darkly sweeping by;

Of vessels cutting through the brine,
Parting the waves with iron keel,

While heaven's hot lightnings round them shine,
And bursting thunders o'er them peal.

Yet tales like these but stirred him more,
And as he felt each passing breeze,
He panted to push off from shore,
And rock upon the stormy seas.

He loved indeed his mother well;
Yet when he walked in woody glen, -
Even there his thoughts would often dwell
On ships, and on sea-faring men.

Until at length his mother gave
To his fond wishes her consent,
And then, with heart free as the wave,
A mariner to sea he went.

He cherished feelings pure and high,
As on each distant soil he trod;
And was, beneath whatever sky,
True to himself and to his God.

He was as cheerful as the light,
And therefore was beloved by all;
Strong in the power of inward might,
And ever prompt at Duty's call.

Thrice did he foreign countries roam,

And thrice of perils past did tell, Thrice was he welcomed back to home,And thrice he heard the sad farewell.

Yet once again his native land

Grows dim before his backward gaze,

And seas by foreign breezes fanned

Are flashing in the noon-tide blaze.

A tropic sun above them pours

Its stifling heat; and as they reach, Ghastly and wan, those distant shores,

A pestilence has swept the beach.

Feeble and sick he lies; the while
A stranger watches by his bed;
Dark eyes gaze o'er him with a smile,
And cool hands press his aching head.

Sweet was the voice and kind the look,
That gently watched above him there;
And, with her crucifix and book,

She often knelt in earnest prayer.

And when, restored, he left that land,
Their eyes with parting tears were dim,
And when in his he clasped her hand,
She gave the crucifix to him.

And while he sailed upon the deep,
The crucifix was with him there ;
And ere he closed his eyes in sleep,
Her name was murmured in his prayer.

Upon his home-bound voyage at night, When blackness veiled each earthly form, The dark clouds gathered in their might, And burst in fury and in storm.

The surf is o'er the top-mast borne, Through heaven the hissing thunders fly,

The sails are into ribbons torn,

And blazing fire-bolts blanch the eye.