 | Art and Fashion |  |
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THE CAPTIVE.
There was joy in my home—there was beauty and light,
For, fair as their mother first smiled on my sight,
My daughters around me in innocence bloom'd,
And my sons the free bearing of manhood assumed;
While Christmas came round with mirth, music, and song,
And their sire was the proudest of all that gay throng.
For, fair as their mother first smiled on my sight,
My daughters around me in innocence bloom'd,
And my sons the free bearing of manhood assumed;
While Christmas came round with mirth, music, and song,
And their sire was the proudest of all that gay throng.
But a sound filled the land with suspicion and dread,
And the guiltless from home to a prison were led!
From the arms of my children they tore me away,
No anguish could move them—no mercy had they!
And Christmas came round—but, ah! changed were its strains,
To the clank of my fetters—to darkness and chains!
And the guiltless from home to a prison were led!
From the arms of my children they tore me away,
No anguish could move them—no mercy had they!
And Christmas came round—but, ah! changed were its strains,
To the clank of my fetters—to darkness and chains!
And years crept away; still I hoped, as of yore,
To behold my sweet home—kiss my children once more!
Whilst a record of days midst the darkness I kept,
I prayed to the God of the captive, and wept!
Till memory grew wearied, and blighted its power,
And Christmas came round, and I knew not the hour!
To behold my sweet home—kiss my children once more!
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I prayed to the God of the captive, and wept!
Till memory grew wearied, and blighted its power,
And Christmas came round, and I knew not the hour!
Still years and years fled—no impression they gave;
'Twas a void, a delirium, a life in the grave—
A chaos of thought—a dream, wild yet awake;
But, alas! such a dream as no morning could break;
And Christmas came round, but its brightness was o'er;
It found not the captive, he knew it no more!
'Twas a void, a delirium, a life in the grave—
A chaos of thought—a dream, wild yet awake;
But, alas! such a dream as no morning could break;
And Christmas came round, but its brightness was o'er;
It found not the captive, he knew it no more!
At last, when the hairs on my temples were gray,
When my form had grown feeble and bent with decay,
The door of my cell grated open—for me!
I was dragg'd into day and there told I was free!
It was winter: the wind whistled cold o'er my brow;
But methought it seem'd Christmas, and welcomed its snow!
When my form had grown feeble and bent with decay,
The door of my cell grated open—for me!
I was dragg'd into day and there told I was free!
It was winter: the wind whistled cold o'er my brow;
But methought it seem'd Christmas, and welcomed its snow!
I was free! I beheld the glad sun once again;
Though its light was but torture—its loveliness pain.
I was free! I forgot the sad years that had roll'd;
I forgot I was poor, and decrepid, and old!
And methought that sweet Christmas again would appear
In the home of my heart, with the beings most dear!
Though its light was but torture—its loveliness pain.
I was free! I forgot the sad years that had roll'd;
I forgot I was poor, and decrepid, and old!
And methought that sweet Christmas again would appear
In the home of my heart, with the beings most dear!
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I drew towards the spot where my home used to bloom;
But its walls lay in dust, and my wife in the tomb!
My daughters were scatter'd the wild waters wide,
And my sons midst the wars for their country had died!
So I turn'd to the dungeon, and craved for my chains,
For the captive no home and no Christmas remains!
But its walls lay in dust, and my wife in the tomb!
My daughters were scatter'd the wild waters wide,
And my sons midst the wars for their country had died!
So I turn'd to the dungeon, and craved for my chains,
For the captive no home and no Christmas remains!
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