Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/574

 558 GEORGE Y. WELBORN [1850-(i0. THE CAPTIVE BOY. To his prison window creeping, See that lonely captive boy; He has left a roother weeping, Who shall know no future joy ; But in sadder melancholy, Slie must mourn him now as dead, Who in wild and wayward folly, To the battle-field has fled. Beams of golden sunlight streaming Through the grates have led him there ; While his eyes with sadness beaming, Tell his spirit's wild despair. Lonely weeks and months have bound him Close within these prison cells ; How disease and hunger found him. Faded beauty plainly tells. Dark brown ringlets, in profusion. Cluster round his marble brow. Which were erst a wild intrusion. But are all unheeded now. He is dying, slowly dying. Soon his sorrows will be o'er ; See him struggling, wildly trying To look out on earth once more. He has reached that spot, and gladness Brightens up his pallid face. Where so lately brooding sadness Left of beauty not a trace. Hark ! he speaks like one whose sorrow Human sufF'rance had surpassed, On whose soul shall dawn no morrow. But with death-shades overcast : " Oh, thou sun, that dost awaken This fair morn, oh tell me why, I, so lonely and forsaken. Here must languish, here must die? Tell me, for thou seest clearly All yon world of cheerfulness. Does my mother, loving dearly, Mourn my fate in bitterness ? " Has she yet my crime forgiven ? Docs she pray in tears and pain, That her son, by fondness driven, May return to her again ? Will her gentle heart be broken With the saddest, deepest woe. When these words are kindly spoken : ' Willie sleeps in Mexico ? ' " No, this thought will soothe each other Which may thrill her heaving breast, That my Saviour, dearest brother, Stooped to lull my soul's unrest. To my heart-strings, lone and riven By the sins of other days. Harmony he now has given, And attuned to sweeter lays. " God protect her, strengthen, teach her, To dispel such bitter grief. Oh my mother, loving creature. Trust in Him, he'll give relief; Could I see thee, know thee present, Could I hear thy soothing voice, This dark prison would be pleasant, And in death I could rejoice. " And my sister, gentle being ! Who so fondly clung to me, Sobbing wildly, as if seeing My unhappy destiny. Dost thou mourn me? dost thou miss me? Who didst plead with me to stay — Why did I so rudely kiss thee. Then so wildly bound away ? " Oft in dreams her spirit lingers Round my lonely prison bed. And I feel her lovely fingers Pressing lightly on my head. Oft I feel her fond caresses. And her lips on mine once moi'e ; But awaking 'mid distresses, All my visions then are o'er. "And my little brother, Charlie! Who, with arms about me twined, Held me till, with simple parley. He might change my wayward mind. Oh, my dear, devoted brother, Weep no more, but pity me!