A SHIP moves over the billows,

A lass weeps on the shore,

She waves a last adieu to him,

Who may return no more!

On the tops of distant mountains

The sun's last rays alight,

Darkness is gathering over all, -

Sad little maid, good night!

Once more on the strand the maiden

Watcheth at early dawn,

Her face is bright as the sunshine, -

Glad little maid, good morn!

A. L. H.