band.

In changing moods of grief and mirth the ocean way was passed,
And all were weary, when the cry of "Land" was heard at last.
Like birds escaped from thraldom long, the happy, smiling crowd
Thronged to the deck with eager looks, rejoicing long and loud.

Yet one was missing 'mid that band who foremost should have been,
Whose hopeful heart had cheered them oft when winds blew fierce
and keen;
And when dead calms or drizzling rains made the ocean way seem
long
Had wiled the time with lively tale, with jest, or stirring song.

But a sudden change had come o'er him, his ringing voice was
hushed,
The smooth young cheek grew pallid, or, at times, was deeply
flushed;
And now he lay in his lonely cot, a prey to sickness drear,
His frame all filled with racking pain--his heart with doubt and
fear.

"Oh, raise me up," he faintly breathed, "that I one glance may
win
Of that long looked for promised land I ne'er may enter in;
Till I recall the tender words of friends, well loved of old--
The friends I left without a pang, in idle search for gold."

The Exile's prayer was soon obeyed, and round his fevered brow
The cool land breeze is playing, but death's damps are on it now!