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He heard her voice, when, lo! O God!
From the wild wave wilderness
The boom of a distant minute-gun

And the flash of a light of distress.

Down, down the bellying tempest swooped With death in its blackening womb ; Blinding the flash of the lights of distress, The white sheet flared through the gloom, And, deadening the sound of the gun, she heard

The thundering breakers' boom.

And now red lights like beacon-fires.

Blaze from the ship's black hull, Flaring the dread rocks round. O God! How many a ghastly skull

Of drowned men lies, where they lie now, On the reef of Innishtrahull !

Anon, in a huge sea-swoop, the ship Is gulfed in the blown sea-caves; Anon, high heaved in air, the lamps Glare on the hollow waves,

That

open beneath the sinking ship Like yawning bloody graves.

The tumbling seas swoop; the plunging foam bursts,

And the drenched lamps glimmer between. Father of life, will they see on shore

The sinking ship's signal sheen?

O God of storm, thou art God of love: Ye are seen, pale lights, ye are seen! "Out with the lifeboat!" rang the shout,

And the stormy winds did blow; "Out with the lifeboat!-Steady, my lads! Down with her! Steady, boys-so. Bend to it, all; together, lads, now! Hurrah! away we go!"

Anon the boom of the minute-gun

Rang low through the breezes' roar, And the lifeboat plunged through the plunging foam,

And a lantern from the shore Showed Jack at the stern with his rough brave hand

Clutching the strong stroke-oar.

"Steady!" he cried.
Steady!" he cried. "Head her, my lads,
Where the thundering billows break;
Out where the red lamps blaze, my boys:

Let the broken sea boil in our wake;
And save him, save him, save him, lads,
For Gertrude Marmion's sake!"

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Saved, saved!" she cried; "thank God ye | She dropped it down into his

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grave

So passed the spring; and when the fields Were green with summer corn,

She and the noble lord were wed

And when the next May morn Gleamed sweetly on the waveless sea, Her first boy-babe was born.

And the husband stooped and laid his arms
About his pale wife's neck.

"We'll call our son," he said, "to bring
My father's dead name back,
Eustace Fitzharding.'

66

Nay," she said, "We'll call his name plain JACK.”

And night by night (the old folks say)
There comes a wild sea-gull,
And sitteth like a great white dove,
Moaning and beautiful,

Above the wreck and the body of Jack,
On the reef of Innishtrahull.

SAMUEL K. COWAN.

UNDER THE WILLOWS.

UNDER the willows that grow by the

river

Our little bark glides on its musical way; The wavelets are flecked with the tremulous quiver

Of sunshine and shadow at riotous play. We float past a tangle of whispering rushes Asway 'neath each zephyr that steals through the glade,

And noiselessly glide through the dim, silent hushes

That brood in the cool, dewy coverts of shade.

White lilies stand, graceful and still, in the Ah! life seems

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a tender and rapturous

Here under the willows this sweet summer day,

Pale sunbeams are gliding about through the And I'd be content, with my love for comhollow

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panion,

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Still on glides our boat o'er the shimmering To make it sure. Of all God made upright

river;

Each heart with the other in unison beats, While through the green willows the cool zephyrs shiver

And in their nostrils breathed a living soul, Most fallen, most prone, most earthy, most

debased;

Of all that sold eternity for time,

And bear to us burdens of odorous sweets. None bargained on so easy terms with death.

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