Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
In the harbor of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on the bay,--
The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Hal, the Captain's son,
A lad both brave and good,
In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,
And on the main truck stood!
A shudder shot through every vein,--
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;
No hold had he above, below;
Alone he stood in air:
To that far height none dared to go,--
No aid could reach him there.
We gazed, but not a man could speak,--
With horror all aghast,--
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,--
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue;--
As riveted unto the spot,
Stood officers and crew.
The father came on deck:--he gasped,
"Oh, God; thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son.
"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!
Jump, or I fire," he said;
"That only chance your life can save;
Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.
He sunk,--he rose,--he lived,--he moved,--
And for the ship struck out.
On board we hailed the lad beloved,
With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
Those wet arms round his neck,
And folded to his heart his boy,--
Then fainted on the deck.
_Morris._