Push them away! for, shouting, waving high
Her frantic arms, Nooravah through the crowd
Rush'd, blind to all but the insensate girl
Who lay in Melville's arms, and never more
Lifted her eyes, or moved, or broke in sobs.
But with a spring, that plash'd in blinding foam
The shallow wave, Nooravah clutch'd the boat,
And caught the child, and tore from its white breast
The mantle's fold, and kiss'd the filial sign,
The punctured daisy with the rings of gold,
And kiss'd and kiss'd with lips that drew the blood,
So savage was their press! Then at a word
The child was seized, and placed in Melville's arms;
And folding all her robe around her head,
Nooravah bent her down, as if to hear
Banoolah's voice,—but silent was the child.

Then rose a shout when motion took the boat
And bit by bit, with fond returning prow,
From backward wave to wave still farther back,
The bark with idle liftings felt the call
Of the mid ocean, and released the land.
"Go!*' said the priest, " Belah, who dwells on high,
Looks from her throne of thunder and dark cloud,
And sees far off, beyond the reach of sight,
The waken'd tempest waiting for his prey.
Go! Belah shakes the guilty from her lap,
And death awaits you where no eye shall see!"
And high replied the old man from the boat,
"God's eye shall see us in the trackless waste;
Yea! and his love shall save us though we die!"
But soon his voice was lost, and on they sped
Far from the shore; and with intentest eyes
The crowd gazed on, with still unsated rage,
Till the small vessel sank into a speck,
And in the widening distance died away.

PART II.

"Ah, wretched end! " I said, when here the tale
Broke off, " What fate could be the hapless pair's?"
"They must have perish'd either by the waves
Engulfing all, or by the crueller death
Of thirst and hunger on the breathless sea,—
Or haply, as has chanced to native praams,
They may have drifted 'cross the homeward path
Of England's commerce, and been saved at last.—
I heard, indeed, how once a Bristol ship
Had rescued a small child, which sat alone
Beside an old man's corse,—too young for words,
Or crush'd by want and fear till memory died.
But here come all the brethren from the shore,
The Holy Preachers, who have brought this land
Into God's light. Oh! great shall be their praise!
'Tis twenty years since Melville dree'd his doom.
And, lo! the thing he pray'd for has been done!"

Beside us on the deck with glowing heart
Stood Edward Elliot; and a soft white hand
Lay on his arm, and with fond loving eyes
His wife look'd on his face.

                                              " God's will be done!"
He said; "dear Edith, this our field of toil,—
This the dear home we've pictured in our talk
In the old time when first I took the vow
To spread God's name, and on an autumn eve,
Beside the little brook that girdled in
Your uncle's orchard with a zone of sound,
You whisper'd in a voice I scarce could hear,
That you would aid me in the cause I loved.
Have you repented of the word you spoke?"
Silent stood Edith Elliot for a time,
And gazed all round. The bay more fill'd had grown,
With sail and shallop, and a thousand waves
Danced onward, with a thousand joyous boys
And splashing girls, wild with their ocean games,
Tumbling with shrilly laughter from the crest,
And diving to the depths, as if in shame.
Then turn'd she moisten'd eyes, and press'd his arm
And said " what answer more do you require?"
Gay-pennon'd, with the Union at the mast,
And rowed by six young chiefs, who kept their way,
Heedless of light canoe, and fluttering bark,
Like charging squadrons on a battle day,
A boat gleam'd round the point, and in the stern
Sate reverend men,—reverend, though young in years,
And matrons in their quiet English robes,
As if on some calm lake in Westmoreland,
All gazing on the ship. And Elliot gazed,
And Edith,—for these looked-for visitors
Were brethren of the mission. Side by side
Their future course must be. Ah! happy course.
Under the lifted banner of the Cross.

How sweet the meeting on the silent deck!
For no one spoke; but in the matron's hands
Lay Edith's, trembling with uneasy joy,
And tears were in her eyes,—and Elliot bent,
While hands were raised in prayer above his head.
Soon the three women, silently withdrew
On sign from Edith, and with noiseless steps
Moved down the cabin stairs, and stopt at last
Where slept a rosy child two summers old,
Heedless of trampling deck and noisy bay.
Edith bent down, and kiss'd it as it slept,
Then careful raised it from its tiny bed,
And laid it in the smiling sister's arms.
"Oh! we will love the child," the sister said,
"And graft this bud of English innocent life
On the wild tree of this new waken'd land,
And watch its growth, till flower and fruit come forth
And all the Isle shall lie within its shade."
So Susan Marfeldt carried forth the child,
Childless herself; and Edith stood at gaze,
Watching the careful nurse from ship to boat,
From boat to shore, and up the shining beach,
Till the low, Mission dwellings took them in.—
And shoreward went the Brothers, deep in talk,
With many a pause, as up the bay they moved,
And pleased was Elliot with his new-found home.

"Look! " said the surgeon, and he touch'd my arm,
"The bark full sail'd upon our starboard beam!
That is the King's, Paomi." " What the wretch
Who slew Banoolah, is he now the king?"
"All things went well with him since that dread time;
Wealth, power, and vigorous hand, all built him up
Into the foremost man of all the isles.
And well he wears the crown and wields the sword,
Half-Christian—Christian only with the head—
His heart is with his idols as of old."
"And his more savage wife?" " Nooravah lives,
The fiercest worshipper of Belah's power
Of all who hear Christ's name and scorn his law.
See, there she stands."

                                          Triumphant as a king
Who drinks the shouts of battle, tall she stood,
A javelin in her hand, and with proud lips
Look'd upward to the deck. Beside her sate
Paomi, kingly robed, and great of form,
Like Ajax, self-collected in his thought.

With boxes, trunks and varying packages,
Wooden or leather-bound, of shape and size
Incongruous, linen bags and basket-work,
Cumbering the deck, and busied among them all