Casabianca
Felicia Dorothea Hemans
1793 to 1835
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The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet and bright he stood,
As born to rule storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, child-like form.
The flames roll'd on—he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That Father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud:—"Say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?"
knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of son.
"Speak, Father!" once again he cried
"If I may yet begone!
And"—but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.
Upon his brow felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
looked from that lone post of death,
In yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
"My Father, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way,
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a of thunder sound—
The boy—oh! where was he?
of the winds that far around
With fragments the sea!
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part—
But the noblest which perished there
Was that young faithful heart!