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Rh Saw you the sad, imploring eye?

Its every glance was pain,

As if a storm of agony

Were sweeping through the brain.

She is a mother pale with fear;

Her boy clings to her side.

And in her kirtle vainly tries

His trembling form to hide.

He is not hers, although she bore

For him a mother's pains;

He is not hers, although her blood

Is coursing through his veins.

He is not hers, for cruel hands

May rudely tear apart

The only wreath of household love

That binds her breaking heart.

His love has been a joyous light

That o'er her pathway smiled,

A fountain, gushing ever new,

Amid life's desert wild.

His lightest word has been a tone

Of music round her heart;

Their lives a streamlet blent in one—

O Father, must they part?

They tear him from her circling arms,

Her last and fond embrace;

O, never more may her sad eyes

Gaze on his mournful face.

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