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Mrs. Hemans.

Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son of the Admiral of the French fleet, remained at his post, in the Battle of the Nile, after his ship, the “Orient,” had caught fire, and after all the guns had been abandoned. He perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames reached the powder magazine.

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 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 wrapped 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.