Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/216

212 Of utter desolation, broke a cry "Oh father! father!" and around his neck Two weeping children twined their trembling arms, His elder-born, who in the thicket's depths Scaped the destroyer's eye. When bitter grief Withdrew its palzying power, the tireless zeal Of that dismembered household, sought the child Reft from their arms, and oft, with shuddering thought, Revolved the hardships, that must mark her lot, If life was hers. And when the father lay In his last, mortal sickness, he enjoined His children, never to remit their search For his lost Lily. Faithful to the charge. They strove, but still in vain. Years held their way, The boy became a man, and o'er his brow Stole the white, sprinkled hairs. Around his hearth Were children's children, and one pensive friend, His melancholy sister, night and day, Mourning the lost. At length a rumor came. Of a white woman, found in Indian tents, Far, far away. A father's dying words Came o'er the husbandman, and up he rose, And took his sad-eyed sister by the hand, Blessing his household, as he bade farewell For their uncertain pilgrimage. They prest