HOME OF THE DUELLIST. 53

Engulph'd beneath the wat'ry main, Where bitter tempests blow ;

Or crush 'd amid the battle-field,

Where slaughter'd thousands rest ;

Yet know they of the speechless pang That rives her bleeding breast ?

Who lies so powerless on her couch,

Transfix "d by sorrow's sting ? Her infant in its nurse's arms,

Like a forgotten thing.

A dark-hair 'd boy is at her side

He lifts his eagle-eye " Mother ! they say my father's dead,

How did uiy father die ? "

Again, the spear-point in her breast !

Again, that shriek of pain ! " Child ! thou hast riven thy mother's soul,

Speak not those words again."

" Speak not those words again, my son ! "

What boots the fruitless care ? They're written wheresoe'er she turns ;

On ocean, earth, or air :

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