The Main Truck, or a Leap for Life

Old Ironsides at anchor lay,

In the harbor of Mahon;

A dead calm rested on the bay,—

The waves to sleep had gone;

When little Hal, the Captain's son,

A lad both brave and good,

In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,

And on the main truck stood!

A shudder shot through every vein,—

All eyes were turned on high!

There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,

Between the sea and sky;

No hold had he above, below;

Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go,—

No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak,—

With horror all aghast,—

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,—

We watched the quivering mast.

The atmosphere grew thick and hot,

And of a lurid hue;—

As riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck:—he gasped,

"Oh, God; thy will be done!"

Then suddenly a rifle grasped,

And aimed it at his son.

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!

Jump, or I fire," he said;

"That only chance your life can save;

Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.

He sunk,—he rose,—he lived,—he moved,—

And for the ship struck out.

On board we hailed the lad beloved,

With many a manly shout.

His father drew, in silent joy,

Those wet arms round his neck,

And folded to his heart his boy,—

Then fainted on the deck.

Morris.