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Foretell the thought before he speaks;
|
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With a full voice of proud command
|
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He turned upon the wondering band.
|
|
|
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"Ye hold me not! no! no, nor can;
|
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This hour has made the boy a man.
|
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I knelt before my slaughtered sire,
|
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Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire.
|
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I wept upon his marble brow,
|
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Yes, wept! I was a child; but now
|
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My noble mother, on her knee,
|
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Hath done the work of years for me!"
|
|
|
|
He drew aside his broidered vest,
|
|
And there, like slumbering serpent's crest,
|
|
The jeweled haft of poniard bright
|
|
Glittered a moment on the sight.
|
|
"Ha! start ye back? Fool! coward! knave!
|
|
Think ye my noble father's glaive
|
|
Would drink the life-blood of a slave?
|
|
The pearls that on the handle flame
|
|
Would blush to rubies in their shame;
|
|
The blade would quiver in thy breast
|
|
Ashamed of such ignoble rest.
|
|
No! thus I rend the tyrant's chain,
|
|
And fling him back a boy's disdain!"
|
|
|
|
A moment, and the funeral light
|
|
Flashed on the jeweled weapon bright;
|
|
Another, and his young heart's blood
|
|
Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood.
|
|
Quick to his mother's side he sprang,
|
|
And on the air his clear voice rang:
|
|
"Up, mother, up! I'm free! I'm free!
|
|
The choice was death or slavery.
|
|
Up, mother, up! Look on thy son!
|
|
His freedom is forever won;
|
|
And now he waits one holy kiss
|
|
To bear his father home in bliss;
|
|
One last embrace, one blessing—one!
|
|
To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son.
|
|
What! silent yet? Canst thou not feel
|
|
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal?
|
|
Speak, mother, speak! lift up thy head!
|
|
What! silent still? Then art thou dead:
|
|
—Great God, I thank thee! Mother, I
|
|
Rejoice with thee—and thus—to die."
|
|
One long, deep breath, and his pale head
|
|
Lay on his mother's bosom—dead.
|
|
|
|
Ann S. Stephens.
|
The Height of the Ridiculous
Table of Contents
|
I wrote some lines once on a time
|
|
In wondrous merry mood,
|
|
And thought, as usual, men would say
|
|
They were exceeding good.
|
|
|
|
They were so queer, so very queer,
|
|
I laughed as I would die;
|
|
Albeit, in the general way,
|
|
A sober man am I.
|
|
|
|
I called my servant, and he came;
|
|
How kind it was of him
|
|
To mind a slender man like me,
|
|
He of the mighty limb!
|
|
|
|
"These to the printer," I exclaimed,
|
|
And, in my humorous way,
|
|
I added (as a trifling jest),
|
|
"There'll be the devil to pay."
|
|
|
|
He took the paper, and I watched,
|
|
And saw him peep within;
|
|
At the first line he read, his face
|
|
Was all upon the grin.
|
|
|
|
He read the next; the grin grew broad,
|
|
And shot from ear to ear;
|
|
He read the third; a chuckling noise
|
|
I now began to hear.
|
|
|
|
The fourth; he broke into a roar;
|
|
The fifth; his waistband split;
|
|
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
|
|
And tumbled in a fit.
|
|
|
|
Ten days and nights, with
|
