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THE
DRAWING ROOM SCRAP-BOOK.
THE HINDOO MOTHER.
VIGNETTE.
HE leaves it to the sacred stream,
She leaves it to the tide,
Her little child—her darling one,
And she has none beside.
She used to sit beneath the palm,
Her boy upon her knee;
And dreaming of the future years,
That were his own to be:
She saw him with a stately steed,
The sabre in his hand;
His pistols gleaming at his waist,
The foremost of his band:
She saw him with his father’s smile,
Beside some maiden dear;
She smiled to hear familiar words!
Alas! and is he here?
The light has vanished from her day,
The hope gone from her heart;
The young, the bright, and the beloved,
Oh! how could he depart?
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