XI.
"Fire!"  'twas an awful sound to hear on solitary
        seas,
With double danger in the breath of every fresh'ning
        breeze;
An awful sight it was to see the vessel all alight,
As if a blazing meteor dropped into the darksome
        night.

                                       XII.
Foremost and calm amid his crew the Captain gave
        command,
Nor backward in a moment's need to help with skilful
        hand,
Awhile the courage in his voice and firmness on his
        brow
Imparted strength and hope to hearts which ne'er
        had drooped till now.

                                      XIII.
Three days, three nights, the vessel burned; oh,
        Heavens! 'twas strange to be
Mid fire unquenchable with all the waters of the
        sea!
But neither skill nor strength availed: the fatal
         breezes blew,
Death and destruction, fiery-winged, threatened the
         gallant crew.

                                      XIV.
And all was lost. Those gorgeous silks would sweep
         no palace now,
Those ivory fans would never feign a breeze to
         beauty's brow;
The aromatic leaf could soothe no weary student's
         brain,
Or freshen lips in fever heats upon the bed of pain.

                                       XV.
" Get out the boat!" with firm quick voice the short
         command was said,
And no man spoke, but straight and swift the order
         was obeyed;
Then one by one the crew stepped forth— but all
         looked back with tears,
Upon the bonnie Golden Bee, their home of many
         years.

                                      XVI.
But first the Captain snatched from flame, and pressed
        within his breast,
A relic of departed days, of all his heart loved best:
A little Prayer-book, well-worn now, a gift in early
        life,
Sweet token from his early love ere yet he called her
        wife.

                                      XVII.
And quick as falls a lightning shaft, when thunder
        is behind,
A thousand recollected joys flashed o'er his troubled
         mind;
Of happy, happy courtship days, and later, still more
        sweet,
The tranquil joys of married life, the sound of baby
        feet.

                                     XVIII.
Amid a death-like silentness of breeze and sky and
         sea,
Beneath a burning noonday sun they left the Golden
        Bee;
And when they saw the blackened wreck totter amid
         the foam,
Each sailor breathed a prayer to God, and thought
         of wife and home.

                                      XIX.
Then out upon a lonely sea, six hundred miles from
         land,
The solitary boat sailed forth with that courageous
        band;
Sailed forth as drifts a withered leaf upon the surging
        tide,
With only hope to be their strength, and only God as
         guide.

                                       XX.
No white sail specked the arid sky, no cloud or
        shadow came,
To cool that blue abyss of air which seemed to be a
        flame;
No breeze sprang up to aid their oars, no friendly
         ray of light,
Of moon or star shone out to guide their dreary path
         at night.

                                      XXI.
Oh! God, it was a fearful thing to float and drift
         away,
Upon so wide a wilderness, day after weary day,
With meagre store of food and drink which, ere two
         days had rolled,
They measured out as never yet a miser did his
         gold.

                                     XXII.
"Oh, Captain!" cried a sailor boy, "I ran away
         to sea,
And well I know my mother's heart has sorely
        grieved for me;
Will some one take my parting love?— I shall not
         reach the shore."
And then he smiled a saintly smile, nor smiled nor
         spoke no more.

                                     XXIII.
Then tenderly, with bare brown hands, his comrades
         did prepare
An humble shroud, and wrapp'd him in with more
         than woman's care.
And all stood up and bared their heads, awhile the
         Captain read
The Church of England's requiem over its ransomed
         dead.

                                     XXIV.
The red sun dipp'd into the sea, and lit the west afar,
The crimson clouds paled one by one, beneath the
         evening star;
A calm of even-tide enwrapp'd both breeze and sky
         and wave,
When in God's great cathedral vault the sailor found
         a grave.

                                      XXV.
They wept no more— but, silent, stood and watched
         the placid deep;
Thinking with wistful hearts of him who slept such
         blessed sleep.
And one— a gaunt and giant man— sent forth a
         bitter cry,
And clenched his hand, and shrieked aloud, " Oh,
         master, let us die!"

                                     XXVI.
Oh, let us die! The words rang forth through the
         sweet summer air,
As if a mad and tortured soul breathed out its last
         wild prayer.
They sounded far athwart the sea, and up into the
         sky,
Till even silence seemed to make the echo, " Let us
         die!"