An Old Seaman’s Story, Part III

The eve whereon the captain died I turned the ship about, And said unto the seamen good, “We’ll find the island out.”

So back unto the place we came, Where we the child had found; And two full days with anxious watch, We sailed it all around.

And on the third, at break of day, A far-off peak was seen; And then the low-lands rose to view, All woody, rich, and green.

Down on his knees the child he fell, When the mountains came in view, And tears ran streaming from his eyes,— For his own isle he knew.

And, with a wildly-piercing tone, He cried, “Oh mother dear, Weep not,—I come, my mother!” Long, long ere she could hear.

And soon we saw a mountain-top Whereon a beacon burned; Then as the good ship neared the land, An answer was returned.

“Oh give to me my boat!” he cried, “And give to me mine oar!” Just then we saw another boat Pushed from the island-shore.

A carved boat of sandal-wood, Its sail a silken mat, All richly wrought in rainbow-dyes, And three within her sat.

Down from the ship into the sea The little boy he sprung; And the mother gave a scream of joy, With which the island rung.

Like some sea-creature beautiful He swam the ocean-tide, And ere we wondered at his skill He clomb the shallop’s side.

Next moment in his mother’s arms He lay, O sweet embrace! Looking from her dear bosom up Into her loving face.

The happiest and the sweetest sight That e’er mine eyes will see, Was the coming back of this poor child Unto his family!

—Now wot ye of his parentage? Sometime I’ll tell you it; Of meaner matter many a time Has many a book been writ.

’Twould make a pleasant history Of joy scarce touched by woe, Of innocence and love; but now This only must you know.

His mother was of English birth, Well-born, and young, and fair; In the wreck of an East-Indiaman She had been saved there.

His father was the island’s chief, Goodly as man can be; Adam, methinks, in Paradise Was such a one as he.

’Tis not for my weak speech to tell The joy so sweet and good, Of these kind, simple islanders, Nor all their gratitude.

Whate’er the island held they gave; Delicious fruits and vines, Rich-tinted shells from out the sea, And ore from out their mines.

But I might not stay; and that same day Again we turned about, And, with the wind that changed then Went from the harbour out.

—’Tis joy to do an upright deed; ’Tis joy to do a kind; And the best rewards of virtuous deeds Is the peace of one’s own mind.

But a blessing great went with the ship, And with the frieght she bore; The pearl-shells turned to great account, So did the island’s ore;— But I someway lost my reckoning, Nor found the island more.

And how the child became a man, Or what to him befel, As I never trod the island more; Is not for me to tell.