Stephen did not lack helpers; Julius bade Varenus, of the soldiers, serve his wish; And Syrus, a young slave of Felix's, Sprang of his own free motion joyfully To help him pluck Eunicé out of scath; For he had marked the youthful Hebrew pair With distant, upward-looking, loyal love Instinctive toward such virtue and such grace. But, "Nay," Eunicé said, "not yet for me; See there those trembling creatures"--the hand-maids Of dame Drusilla--"rescue first for them!" On a good splinter of the tall curved stem-- The sign of Ceres at the gilded beak-- By the rude violence of the shock torn off When the ship grounded, they tied the two slave girls; But the shipmaster fair Eunicé's act Of self-postponing nobleness admired, And bade two trusty seamen help let down That beam life-laden soft into the sea Whither they, at the master's further word, Followed it, as with frolic leap to death, And brought it safely to the wave-washed shore. Then Stephen and Eunicé, each to each As if in a symbolic bond of fate Linked, with a length of rope allowing play Between them for their wrestle with the surge, And having each in hold a wooden buoy Provided with what might be firmly grasped, Wieldy in size yet equal to support Them safe above the summits of the sea, Were lowered by eager volunteers who all Sped them to their endeavor for the land. They reached it and thanked God for life such prize. The soldiers that were bidden overboard To take their chance of swimming to the beach Bore with them lines which, stretched from ship to shore, Became the means of saving many souls; The most were thus, some buoyed on floats of wood, Some dragged half drowning through the sandy surf, Landed at last--forlorn, but yet alive.