Beside her, mark’d from all the thousands there,
In the calm beauty of his silver hair,
The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy,
From his dark eye flash’d proudly; and the boy,
The youngest born, that ever loved her best:—
“Father! and ye, my brothers!” On the breast
Of that gray sire she sank—and swiftly back,
Even in an instant, to their native track
Her free thoughts flow’d. She saw the pomp no more
The plumes, the banners: to her cabin-door,