He had gone the length of Hindostan, down Ganges’ holy flood; Through Persia, where the peacocks brood, a wild bird of the wood; And, in the forests of the west, had seen the red deer chased, And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of the waste. Oh! pleasant were the tales he told, of lands so strange and new; And in my ignorance I vowed I’d be a sailor too: My father heard my vow with joy,――so in the early May We went on board a merchant-man, bound for Honduras’ bay. Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the wind, With a briskly heaving sea before, and the landsman’s cheer behind. There was joy for me in every league, delight on every strand, And I sat for days on the high fore-top, on the long look-out for land. There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on the burning tropic seas, To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to the freshning breeze. Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship went free, Until we neared the rocky shoals, within the western sea. Yet, still none thought of danger near, till in the silent night, The helmsman gave the dreadful word of “breakers to the right!” The moment that his voice was heard, was felt the awful shock, The ship sprang forward, with a bound, and struck upon a rock. “All hands aloft,” our captain cried――in terror and dismay, They threw the cargo overboard, and cut the masts away, ’Twas all in vain, ’twas all in vain! the sea rushed o’er the deck, And shattered with the beating surf, down went the parting wreck. The moment that the wreck went down, my father seized me fast, And leaping ’mid the thundering waves, seized on the broken mast. I knew not how he bore me up, my senses seemed to swim, A shuddering horror chilled my brain, and stiffened every limb. What next I knew was how at morn, on a bleak and barren shore, Out of a hundred mariners, were living only four. I looked around like one who wakes from dreams of fierce alarm, And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my father’s arm. And with a rigid dying grasp, he closely held me fast, Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight, on the mast. With humble hearts and streaming eyes, down knelt the little band, Praying Him, who had preserved their lives, to lend his guiding hand. And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger came, His mercy, through our misery, preserved each drooping frame: And after months of weary wo, sickness, and travel sore, He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that shore. And now, without a house or friend, I wander far and near, And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear. Thus sitting by your happy hearths, beside your mother’s knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea? The Old Lady and her Cat.