Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The Gray Swan
By Alice Cary (1820–1871)“O
Is my little lad, my Elihu,
A-sailing with your ship?”
The sailor’s eyes were dim with dew,—
“Your little lad, your Elihu?”
He said, with trembling lip,—
“What little lad? what ship?”
Another such an one as he!
What little lad, do you say?
Why, Elihu, that took to the sea
The moment I put him off my knee!
It was just the other day
The Gray Swan sailed away.”
Stood open with a great surprise,—
“The other day? the Swan?”
His heart began in his throat to rise.
“Aye, aye, sir, here in the cupboard lies
The jacket he had on.”
“And so your lad is gone?”
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand,
For a month, and never stir?”
“Why, to be sure! I’ve seen from the land,
Like a lover kissing his lady’s hand,
The wild sea kissing her,—
A sight to remember, sir.”
All this was twenty years ago?
I stood on the Gray Swan’s deck,
And to that lad I saw you throw,
Taking it off, as it might be, so!
The kerchief from your neck.”
“Aye, and he’ll bring it back!”
That has made you sick and made you sad,
Sail with the Gray Swan’s crew?”
“Lawless! the man is going mad!
The best boy ever mother had,—
Be sure he sailed with the crew!
What would you have him do?”
Nor sent you word, nor made you sign
To say he was alive!”
“Hold! if ’twas wrong, the wrong is mine;
Besides, he may be in the brine,
And could he write from the grave?
Tut, man! what would you have?”
’Twas wicked thus your love to abuse;
But if the lad still live,
And come back home, think you you can
Forgive him?”—“Miserable man,
You’re mad as the sea,—you rave,—
What have I to forgive?”
And from within his bosom drew
The kerchief. She was wild.
“My God! my Father! is it true?
My little lad, my Elihu!
My blessed boy, my child!
My dead, my living child!”