Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck

Whence all but him had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on—he would not go

Without his Father's word;

That Father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud:—"Say, Father, say

If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, Father!" once again he cried

"If I may yet begone!

And"—but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames roll'd on.