To the Captain of the U——.

By HARRY VARLEY.

You have drunk your toast to "the Day" that came; The Cross is won, for you did not fail. Do you thrill with joy at your deathless fame? Your hand is trembling, your lips are pale! Ah! you drink again—but the wine is spilled, A crimson stain on the snowy white. Is it wine—or blood of the children killed? Captain! what of the night? When the black night comes and the Day is done, You sleep, and dream of the things that float In a misty sea where a blood-red sun Lights up the dead in a drifting boat. Will you see a face in the waves that swell— A baby's face that is cold and white? Will your sleep be sweet or a glimpse of Hell? Captain! what of the night? Will you see the stare of the small blue eyes, The tiny fingers of whitest wax That will point at you, or the wound that lies, A clot of red in her fairy flax? Will the beads that burst on your brows be hot As mothers' tears that are newly shed? Will each sear and burn like a blazing dot That eats its way through your tortured head? Will you see the ship as it onward sped— The Thing that flew at your fatal word? Will the dripping ghosts be around your bed— The screams of the dying still be heard? When the Big Night calls—and you must obey— Will your soul shrink in its awful fright? You have lived your life, you have had your Day, But, Captain! what of the night?