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The dark, clear, lightning eye!—on Heaven and earth It smiled—as if man were not dust—it smiled! The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth, And I—my heart grew young before my child! My blessed child!—I had but him—yet he Fill'd all my home ev'n with o'erflowing joy, Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free— Where is he now?—my pride, my flower, my boy!

His sunny childhood melted from my sight, Like a spring dew-drop—then his forehead wore A prouder look—his eye a keener light— I knew these woods might be his world no more! He lov'd me—but he left me!—thus they go, Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless'd, too much adored! He heard the trumpet of the red-cross blow, And bounded from me with his father's sword!

Thou weep'st—I tremble—thou hast seen the slain Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair, With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain Where hosts have met—speak! answer!—was he there?