Then they went on board of the ship which was waiting to carry them home.  It was a beau-ti-ful ship with white sails and white masts, and it had been fitted up on purpose for this voyage.

The sea was smooth, the winds were fair, and no one thought of danger.  On the ship, every-thing had been ar-ranged to make the trip a pleasant one.  There was music and dancing, and everybody was merry and glad.

The sun had gone down before the white-winged vessel was fairly out of the bay.  But what of that?  The moon was at its full, and it would give light enough; and before the dawn of the morrow, the narrow sea would be crossed.  And so the prince, and the young people who were with him, gave themselves up to mer-ri-ment and feasting and joy.

The ear-li-er hours of the night passed by; and then there was a cry of alarm on deck.  A moment after-ward there was a great crash.  The ship had struck upon a rock.  The water rushed in.  She was sinking.  Ah, where now were those who had lately been so heart-free and glad?

Every heart was full of fear.  No one knew what to do.  A small boat was quickly launched, and the prince with a few of his bravest friends leaped into it.  They pushed off just as the ship was be-gin-ning to settle beneath the waves.  Would they be saved?

They had rowed hardly ten yards from the ship, when there was a cry from among those that were left behind.

“Row back!” cried the prince.  “It is my little sister.  She must be saved!”

The men did not dare to disobey.  The boat was again brought along-side of the sinking vessel.  The prince stood up, and held out his arms for his sister.  At that moment the ship gave a great lurch forward into the waves.  One shriek of terror was heard, and then all was still save the sound of the moaning waters.

Ship and boat, prince and prin-cess, and all the gay com-pa-ny that had set sail from France, went down to the bottom together.  One man clung to a floating plank, and was saved the next day.  He was the only person left alive to tell the sad story.

When King Henry heard of the death of his son his grief was more than he could bear.  His heart was broken.  He had no more joy in life; and men say that no one ever saw him smile again.

Here is a poem about him that your teacher may read to you, and perhaps, after a while, you may learn it by heart.

He never smiled again.

    The bark that held the prince went down,
      The sweeping waves rolled on;
    And what was England’s glorious crown
      To him that wept a son? 
    He lived, for life may long be borne
      Ere sorrow breaks its chain: 
    Why comes not death to those who mourn? 
      He never smiled again.