For an hour or more we watched from the deck of the Rhode Island the lonely light upon the Monitor’s turret; a hundred times we thought it gone forever,—­a hundred times it reappeared, till at last, about two o’clock, Wednesday morning, it sank, and we saw it no more.

We had looked, too, most anxiously, for the whale-boat which had last gone out, under the command of Master’s-Mate Brown, but saw no signs of it.  We knew it had reached the Monitor, but whether swamped by the waved, or drawn in as the Monitor went down, we could not tell.  Captain Trenchard would not leave the spot, but sailed about, looking in vain for the missing boat, till late Wednesday afternoon, when it would have been given up as hopelessly lost, except for the captain’s dependence on the coolness and skill of its tried officer.  He thought it useless to search longer, but, hoping it might have been picked up by some coasting vessel, turned towards Fortress Monroe.

Two days’ sail brought us to the fort, whence we had started on Monday with so many glowing hopes, and, alas! with some who were never to return.  The same kindness met us here as on the Rhode Island; loans of money, clothing, and other necessaries, were offered us.  It was almost well to have suffered, so much beautiful feeling did it bring out.

A day or two at the fort, waiting for official permission to return to our homes, and we were on our way,—­the week seeming, as we looked back upon it, like some wild dream.  One thing only appeared real:  our little vessel was lost, and we, who, in months gone by, had learned to love her, felt a strange pang go through us as we remembered that never more might we tread her deck, or gather in her little cabin at evening.

We had left her behind us, one more treasure added to the priceless store which Ocean so jealously hides.  The Cumberland and Congress went first; the little boat that avenged their loss has followed; in both noble souls have gone down.  Their names are for history; and so long as we remain a people, so long will the work of the Monitor be remembered, and her story told to our children’s children.

* * * * *

LYRICS OF THE STREET.

V.

THE DARKENED HOUSE.

  One year ago, this dreary night,
    This house, that, in my way,
  Checks the swift pulses of delight,
    Was cordial glad, and gay.

  The household angels tended there
    Their ivy-cinctured bower,
  And by the hardier plant grew fair
    A lovely lily-flower.

  The skies rained sunshine on its head,
    It throve in summer air: 
  “How straight and sound!” the father said;
    The mother said, “How fair!”

  One little year is gathering up
    Its glories to depart;
  The skies have left one marble drop
    Within the lily’s heart.