 | Poems |  |
36
THE CAPTIVE'S SONG.
1
The war that proudly swell'd the field,Still rages in its wild career:
The sword that Freedom bid me wield,
Is fall'n—and I am captive here!
2
The Sun that rose to light our toil,Still glances, brightly as before—
It beams—upon the battle-soil—
It sets—against my prison door!
3
But what avails this thought of dread,That flits across my tortur'd mind?
I feel—my lofty spirit's fled—
I know—my limbs are here confin'd!
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4
Yet—could I brave this bondage pain,Which round my goaded bosom throngs:
Oh, I could smile upon my chain,
Could that but calm my Country's wrongs!
5
E'en Death were welcome then to me;If thus her injur'd thoughts could die,
The spell that set her thraldom free,
Should be my latest—dying sigh!
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