  "Come hither, George," young Edmund cried, "Come quickly here to me, For yonder floats the little boat, Upon the swelling sea. "'Tis fasten'd by a single rope, And there is each an oar, And were we once but safely in, We soon could push from shore." "Oh! go not, Edmund," George replied, "The storm is rising fast, The forest bends, the sea-spray flies, Before the howling blast." But not so loud as you, Who always scold and cry out 'Don't', When pleasure is in view." In anger Edmund spoke, and turn'd In pride and scorn away, To where the boat so temptingly, Toss'd in the little bay. He loos'd the rope, he seized the oar, And vaulted o'er the side, And rapidly his little boat Flies through the stormy tide. The wind is loud, the waves are strong, And vainly Edmund strives To guide his boat, which furiously The tempest onward drives. And loud to George he cries; He looks—he listens—calls again, But still no George replies. In terror now and wild affright, All prudence he forgets, And springing quick from side to side, The boat he oversets. His father saw the dreadful plunge, His father heard his shriek; For George, when Edmund would not stay, Some aid had flown to seek. With desperate haste he forward springs, And throwing off his coat, Plunges amid the foaming waves, To gain the struggling boat. Seiz'd on poor Edmund's hand, And senseless through the beating surge, He bore him back to land. 'Twas long ere signs of life return'd, Or he unclos'd his eyes, And longer far it was, ere he From his sick bed could rise. What anguish and remorse he felt, What tears of sorrow shed: How good, how mild he vow'd to be, When he should leave his bed. And let us hope his vow he'll keep, Become a steady boy, No more his friends or parents grieve, But prove their pride and joy. |
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