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THE COVENANTER'S SON.
Young Allan of the Hielands, my brother dear, is gone,
And dreary through the long, long nights, I sit and weep alone;
At times I hear his spirit-voice within the twilight dim,
And sleep brings but an aching dream of days gone by, and him!—
Of him, and of that fearful hour, when from our own fire-side,
And from the Bible where he knelt to seek his soul's best guide,
They dragg'd my brother forth to death—to death, as 'twere a crime
To worship as our fathers in the Covenanters' time.
And dreary through the long, long nights, I sit and weep alone;
At times I hear his spirit-voice within the twilight dim,
And sleep brings but an aching dream of days gone by, and him!—
Of him, and of that fearful hour, when from our own fire-side,
And from the Bible where he knelt to seek his soul's best guide,
They dragg'd my brother forth to death—to death, as 'twere a crime
To worship as our fathers in the Covenanters' time.
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My mother shriek'd—her woe was wild—she clasped their cruel knees,—
But tears, nor yet her sad white hairs, might plead with men like these:
They dragg'd him to the lonely moor, that foul and fateful night,
And slew him there, amidst our cries, and prayers, before our sight!
I saw him kneel in manly bloom their deadly guns before—
I clasp'd him in my arms a corse—all gash'd, and red with gore:
They left us to our misery—like slaves of guilt they fled—
With the curse of Heaven, and the brand of Cain upon their head!
But tears, nor yet her sad white hairs, might plead with men like these:
They dragg'd him to the lonely moor, that foul and fateful night,
And slew him there, amidst our cries, and prayers, before our sight!
I saw him kneel in manly bloom their deadly guns before—
I clasp'd him in my arms a corse—all gash'd, and red with gore:
They left us to our misery—like slaves of guilt they fled—
With the curse of Heaven, and the brand of Cain upon their head!
My mother, like one half deranged, lay moaning wild and deep,
And gazing on the corpse—that gaze had made e'en marble weep!—
I would have whisper'd comfort, had not anguish choked my breath—
I would have prayed—but all my words seem'd crimson'd o'er with death!
We buried him in secret, and in secret wept him dead;
But, from that night, my mother pined, and never left her bed!—
I toil for food, from morn to eve, and soothe her as I may:—
But what can heal the broken heart? recall the mind's lost ray?
And gazing on the corpse—that gaze had made e'en marble weep!—
I would have whisper'd comfort, had not anguish choked my breath—
I would have prayed—but all my words seem'd crimson'd o'er with death!
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But, from that night, my mother pined, and never left her bed!—
I toil for food, from morn to eve, and soothe her as I may:—
But what can heal the broken heart? recall the mind's lost ray?
And he, the truest, best of friends, young Bruce of Ronadell,
Has sued me to become his bride—and, oh, I love him well;
But never will I quit thy side—no, no! my mother dear—
Though he should choose some lovelier bride, and leave me, weeping, here!
Some happier one, who loves him more—but that could never be:
Oh, if—if I should lose my love, my mother dear, for thee—
If coldly he should turn away, and other maiden wed—
Then, let me, let me die with thee—thy grave my bridal bed!
Has sued me to become his bride—and, oh, I love him well;
But never will I quit thy side—no, no! my mother dear—
Though he should choose some lovelier bride, and leave me, weeping, here!
Some happier one, who loves him more—but that could never be:
Oh, if—if I should lose my love, my mother dear, for thee—
If coldly he should turn away, and other maiden wed—
Then, let me, let me die with thee—thy grave my bridal bed!
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