Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793-1835)

 

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 childlike form.

​

The flames rolled on — he would not go

Without his father’s word;

That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

​

He called 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 be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

​

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,

And looked from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair.

​

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

​

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

​

There came a burst of thunder sound–

The boy — oh! where was he?

Ask of the winds that far around

With fragments strewed the sea!–

​

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair

That well had borne their part–

But the noblest thing that perished there

Was that young, faithful heart.