Casabianca
Casabianca Felicia Hemans The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he 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 look’d 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 wrapped the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high,...