II.

But the children never still, See them leap like mountain rill, Ringing out their laughter sweet, Sending forth their little fleet.

Full of mirth, but leaving me Musing by another sea, Casting with its angry swell At my feet another shell.

There upon the sand to rest, With a babe upon her breast, Came a mother, not a wife, Tossed upon the sea of life.

As she sat and sat alone, Did she hear another moan? Waves that smiled, then swept the deck, Till they left this shattered wreck?

Yes, while tear-drops rose and fell, There I heard the murmuring shell; Strange the tale it brought to me, Moaning echoes of the sea.

Round and round the eddying world Had this straying shell been whirled; Round and round lay blackest night-- Moths see nothing but the light.

Tossed by sin and idle care, Pain and anguish found her there, Young and mirthful, fair but frail, There she learned the ocean's wail.