Page:Records of Woman.pdf/191

Rh

"There is no crimson on thy cheek,   And on thy lip no breath, I call thee, and thou dost not speak—    They tell me this is death! And fearful things are whispering    That I the deed have done— For the honour of thy father's name,    Look up, look up, my son!

"Well might I know death's hue and mien,   But on thine aspect, boy! What, till this moment, have I seen,    Save pride and tameless joy? Swiftest thou wert to battle,    And bravest there of all— How could I think a warrior's frame    Thus like a flower should fall?