Page:The black man - his antecedents, his genius, and his achievements (IA blackmanantecede00browrich).pdf/169

 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.