[Poems by Hale in] The ladies' wreath :: :: University of Virginia Library

[Poems by Hale in] The ladies' wreath

a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America

Hale, Sarah Josepha Buell (1788-1879)

THE FATHER'S CHOICE.

MAN'S FIRST OFFERING.

THE AMULET.

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395

THE FATHER'S CHOICE.

Now fly, as flies the rushing wind—
Urge, urge thy lagging steed!
The savage yell is fierce behind,
And life is on thy speed.

And from those dear ones make thy choice—
The group he wildly eyed,
When “father!” burst from every voice,
And “child!” his heart replied.

There's one that now can share his toil,
And one he meant for fame,
And one that wears her mother's smile,
And one that bears her name.

396

And one will prattle on his knee,
Or slumber on his breast;
And one whose joys of infancy
Are still by smiles expressed.

They feel no fear while he is near;
He'll shield them from the foe;
But oh! his heart must break to hear
Their shriekings should he go.

In vain his quivering lips would speak;
No words his thoughts allow;
There's burning tears upon his cheek,
Death's marble on his brow.

And twice he smote his cold clench'd hand—
Then bade his children fly!
And turned, and even that savage band
Cowered at his wrathful eye.

Swift as the lightning winged with death,
Flashed forth the quivering flame!
Their fiercest warrior bows beneath
The father's deadly aim.

Not the wild cries, that rend the skies,
His heart or purpose move;
He saves his children, or he dies
The sacrifice of love.

Ambition goads the conq'rer on,
Hate points the murderer's brand—
But love and duty, these alone
Can nerve the good man's hand.

The hero may resign the field,
The coward murderer flee;

397

He cannot fear, he will not yield,
That strikes, sweet love, for thee.

They come, they come—he heeds no cry,
Save the soft child-like wail,
“O father, save!” “My children fly!”
Were mingled on the gale.

And firmer still he drew his breath,
And sterner flashed his eye,
As fast he hurls the leaden death,
Still shouting, “Children fly!”

No shadow on his brow appeared,
Nor tremor shook his frame,
Save when at intervals he heard
Some trembler lisp his name.

In vain the foe, those fiends unchained,
Like famished tigers chafe,
The sheltering roof is neared, is gained,
All, all the dear ones safe!

In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haverhill, Mass., killed and carried into captivity 40 inhabitants. A party of the Indians approached the house of Mr. Thurston, who was abroad at his labor, but who, on their approach, hastened to the house, sent his children out, and ordered them to fly in a course opposite to that in which danger was approaching. He then mounted his horse, and determined to snatch up the child with which he was most unwilling to part, when he should overtake the little flock. When he came up to them, about 200 yards from his house, he was unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore determined to take his lot with them, and defend them from their murderers, or die by their side. A body of the Indians pursued and came up with him; and when at a short distance, fired on him and his little company. He returned the fire, and retreated alternately; still, however, keeping a resolute face to the enemy, and so effectually sheltered his charge that he finally lodged them all safe in a distant house.