There stands a pale, care-worn, yet lovely woman, with a tear which
she cannot restrain, coursing down her cheek, as with a convulsive
pressure of the hand and a murmured, "God bless you," she parts with
her son. He is her only son, and she is a widow.
In yonder proud city a home awaits him, where he can earn a slight
pittance, to keep them from starving.
The grey-haired sire, the blooming youth, the middle aged, are all
here, parting with their friends, while yonder gay throng, with light
laugh and bandied jest, are offering the congratulations and the
parting salutations to a fair young bride, arrayed in all the
gorgeousness of wealth and beauty.
The last word is spoken, the last fond pressure of the hand, and
the last farewell kiss are all given, and amid the cheers of the
multitude, and the whistle of the engine, the ringing of the bell, and
the puff of the steam, the noble ship leaves the wharf, and ploughs
her way on the billowy deep, and the busy throng seek their homes,
their hearts beating high in anticipation of a coming day, when they
shall again welcome the absent friends, scarcely a thought of pain or
death mars their bright hope.
* * * * *
The hours pass on. The full orbed moon rides forth, enthroned among
her retinue of stars, in a clear cerulean sky, bathing all things
beautiful in a mellow light. Far out upon the blue waters rides the
noble steamer, like a thing of life, leaving a long wake of white foam
behind.
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