As she sung, a maid of the captives
Threw back her tangled hair,
And forward leaned as if to list
The lightest murmur there;
Her breath came fast, her brown cheek flushed,
Her eyes grew bright and wide
As if some spell the song had cast,
And, ere the low notes died,
With a bound like a deer in the forest
She sprang to the singer's side,
And, "Liebe, kleine Mutter!"
Enfolding her, she cried—
"My dear, dear, little Mother!"—
Then swift before her knelt
As in the long, long buried days
When by the wood they dwelt;
And, "Vater unser, der du bist
Im Himmel," chanted she,
The sweet "Our Father" she had learned
Beside that mother's knee;
And then the grand "Apostles' Creed"
That in her heart had lain:
"Ich glaube an Gott den Vater,"
Like a child she said again—
"I believe in God the Father"—
Down to the blest "Amen."
Stooping and clasping the maiden
Whose soul the song had freed,
"Now God be praised!" said the mother,
"This is my child indeed!—
My own, my darling Regina,
Come back in my sorest need,
For she knows the Hymn, and 'Our Father,'
And the holy 'Apostles' Creed'!"
Then, while the throng was silent,
And the Colonel bowed his head,
With tears and glad thanksgivings
Her daughter forth she led;
And the sky was lit with sunshine,
And the cold earth caught its smile
For the mother and ransomed maiden,
That morning in Carlisle.
Edna Dean Proctor.
A PROPHECY
[1764]
Ere five score years have run their tedious rounds,—
If yet Oppression breaks o'er human bounds,
As it has done the last sad passing year,
Made the New World in anger shed the tear,—
Unmindful of their native, once-loved isle,
They'll bid Allegiance cease her peaceful smile,
While from their arms they tear Oppression's chain,
And make lost Liberty once more to reign.
But let them live, as they would choose to be,
Loyal to King, and as true Britons free,
They'll ne'er by fell revolt oppose that crown
Which first has raised them, though now pulls them down;
If but the rights of subjects they receive,
'Tis all they ask—or all a crown can give.
Arthur Lee (?).