the warrior.
139
Thy halls are filled with minstrelsy, and spread the festive board
With every luxury that home and far-off lands afford;
And I with all a mother's heart, in triumph and in pride,
Shall enter in my country's joys, when thou art by my side.
Hark, hark! a hoof is on the breeze, a harbinger is nigh;
At sounds of coming carriage wheels the portals open fly.
But why, Sir Knight, thy cheek so pale, thy words so strange and wild?
Why from his mother's doating arms still lingers back my child?
And why prevails deep silence now throughout these crowded halls,
As heavy tread of martial feet upon the marble falls?
Oh God! the truth, the fearful truth, hath met my stricken sight—
My boy is borne to his proud home with features still and white;
His radiant locks fall dark with gore upon his forehead cold,
Those locks which sunbeams loved to kiss, and kindle into gold;
His young life-blood has stain'd his vest, a sabre wound is there—
What hand dare slay the widow's son, the noble's orphan heir,
The scion of a spotless race, of lineage high and proud?
But what avails to mould or worm, who lies beneath the shroud!
With every luxury that home and far-off lands afford;
And I with all a mother's heart, in triumph and in pride,
Shall enter in my country's joys, when thou art by my side.
Hark, hark! a hoof is on the breeze, a harbinger is nigh;
At sounds of coming carriage wheels the portals open fly.
But why, Sir Knight, thy cheek so pale, thy words so strange and wild?
Why from his mother's doating arms still lingers back my child?
And why prevails deep silence now throughout these crowded halls,
As heavy tread of martial feet upon the marble falls?
Oh God! the truth, the fearful truth, hath met my stricken sight—
My boy is borne to his proud home with features still and white;
His radiant locks fall dark with gore upon his forehead cold,
Those locks which sunbeams loved to kiss, and kindle into gold;
His young life-blood has stain'd his vest, a sabre wound is there—
What hand dare slay the widow's son, the noble's orphan heir,
The scion of a spotless race, of lineage high and proud?
But what avails to mould or worm, who lies beneath the shroud!
