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Hanna, Abigail Stanley

"Withered Leaves from Memory's Garland"

Her numerous passengers had laid down to dream of home and
happiness. The gay youth is with his companions, the poor boy with his
widowed mother, the bride in the home of her youth--all are living
over again the scenes that are past.
As they thus lie, lulled in security, the startling cry of "Fire!
fire?--the ship is on fire!" breaks in an appalling sound on the ear.
Every one springs instantly to their feet, and every possible means
are resorted to, to quench the flames, but all in vain; the flames
rush on, and in agony the passengers and crew await their doom. The
man of God, with his white hair streaming over his shoulders, is
calling upon them to make their peace with God; and anon he kneels
and commends them to his kind care. The voice of prayer, the hymn of
praise, the groan of agony, the silent tear, the piercing shriek, are
alike in vain. The destroyer speeds on; the awful announcement is made
that there is powder on board! Oh, the untold misery of that hour, as
in speechless agony they watch the flames. It came at last--and with
one shriek of despair, the doomed victims were hurled into eternity,
and far and wide over the waters were scattered the remains of the
steamer and her crew.
Morn came. The waves sparkled merrily in the sunbeams, and not a trace
of the fell destroyer remains; but far--far down in the depth of the
ocean, on a bed of green sea flowers, reposes the form of that fair
young bride--the friend of my youth.


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