The slender ship, with snowy canvas flying,
Now proudly mounts, now plunges 'neath the wave ;
Then struggling clears the gulf, still onward hieing ; —
We seek the haven through the opening grave.
It was a calm pleasant afternoon, the 9th of Sep-
tember, 1824. The clear sky was imaged on the
smooth surface of the sea, which was rendered still
more beautiful by that reflection. Even the lightest
cloud would have been visible in that limpid mirror,
but neither cloud nor ripple broke the transparency
of the light blue sea. Maria, with her mother, an aged
widow, sat spinning in a small room of their humble
dwelling. The extreme neatness of the walls and
window-seats, painted red and blue, the chests orna-
mented with brass which contained the household treas-
ures of linen, holiday dresses and silk handkerchiefs,
and concealed in a private drawer a few gold rings
and chains, so dear to the inhabitant of the hallig,
gave to the whole a home-like appearance. The gayly
painted doors of the press-bed added to the general
look of cheerful comfort. The chairs covered with loose
cushions, and the table, which necessarily occupied a
