Скачать книгу
Will land or gold redeem my son?
|
Take heritage, take name, take all,
|
|
But leave him free from Russian thrall!
|
|
Take these!" and her white arms and hands
|
|
She stripped of rings and diamond bands,
|
|
And tore from braids of long black hair
|
|
The gems that gleamed like starlight there;
|
|
Her cross of blazing rubies, last,
|
|
Down at the Russian's feet she cast.
|
|
He stooped to seize the glittering store;—
|
|
Up springing from the marble floor,
|
|
The mother, with a cry of joy,
|
|
Snatched to her leaping heart the boy.
|
|
But no! the Russian's iron grasp
|
|
Again undid the mother's clasp.
|
|
Forward she fell, with one long cry
|
|
Of more than mortal agony.
|
|
|
|
But the brave child is roused at length,
|
|
And, breaking from the Russian's hold,
|
|
He stands, a giant in the strength
|
|
Of his young spirit, fierce and bold.
|
|
Proudly he towers; his flashing eye,
|
|
So blue, and yet so bright,
|
|
Seems kindled from the eternal sky,
|
|
So brilliant is its light.
|
|
|
|
His curling lips and crimson cheeks
|
|
Foretell the thought before he speaks;
|
|
With a full voice of proud command
|
|
He turned upon the wondering band.
|
|
|
|
"Ye hold me not! no! no, nor can;
|
|
This hour has made the boy a man.
|
|
I knelt before my slaughtered sire,
|
|
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire.
|
|
I wept upon his marble brow,
|
|
Yes, wept! I was a child; but now
|
|
My noble mother, on her knee,
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
Скачать книгу
|
