PART II.

It was a wicked deed, and Heaven All wickedness doth hate; And vengeance on the oppressor, It cometh soon or late,--

As you will see. There something was, Even from the very night Whereon the captain stole the child, On board that was not right.

From out the cabin evermore, Where they were all alone, We heard, oh piteous sounds to hear, A low and quiet moan; And now and then cries sad enough To move a heart of stone.

The captain had a conscious look, Like one who doeth wrong, And yet who striveth all the time Against a conscience strong.

The seamen did not work at all With a good will or a free; And the ship, as she were sullen too, Went slowly over the sea, ’Twas then the captain from below Sent down in haste for me.

I found him lying on his bed, Oppressed with fever-pain; And by his death-struck face, I saw That he would not rise again,-- That he, so lately hale and strong, Would never rise again.

“I have done wickedly,” said he, “And Christ doth me condemn;-- I have children three on land,” groaned he, “And woe will come to them!

“I have been weighed, and wanting found; I’ve done an evil deed!-- I pray thee, mate, ’tis not too late, Take back this child with speed!

“I have children three,” again groaned he, “And I pray that this be done!-- Thou wilt have order of the ship When I am dead and gone:-- I pray thee do the thing I ask, That mercy may be won!”

I vowed to do the thing he asked, Upon the Testament; And true enough, that very day To his account he went.

I took the little child away, And set him on my knee, In the free fresh air upon the deck, But he spoke no word to me.

I feared at first that all his grief Had robbed him of his speech, And that I ne’er by word or look, His sunken soul could reach.

At length he woke from that dead woe, Like one that long hath slept, And cast his arms about my neck, And long and freely wept,

I clasped him close unto my breast, Yet knew not what to say, To wile him from the misery That on his spirit lay.

At length I did bethink me Of Jesus Christ; and spake To that poor lamb of all the woe He suffered for our sake.

“For me and thee, dear child,” I said, “He suffered, and be sure He will not lay a pang on thee Without he give the cure!”

Like as the heavy clouds of night Pass from the coming day, So cleared the sullen weight of woe From his dear soul away.

Oh happy hours of converse sweet;-- The Christian’s hope he knew, And with an eager heart he gained That knowledge sweet and new.

And ever by my side he kept, Loving, and meek, and still: But never more to him returned His bold and wayward will:-- He had been tried and purified From every taint of ill.