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“I see the once again, my home! thou 'rt there amidst
thy vines, And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer
shines. It is a joyous hour when eve comes whispering through
thy groves, The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the
mother loves ! - The hour the mother loves !—for me beloved it hath not
Yet ever in its purple smile, thou smil'st, a blessed scene ! Whose quiet beauty o'er my soul through distant years
will come-Yet what but as the dead, to thee, shall I be then, my
“ Not as the dead !-no, not the dead !-We speak of
them--we keep Their names, like light that must not fade, within our
bosoms deep! We hallow ev’n the lyre they touch'd, we love the lay
they sung, We pass with softer step the place they fill'd our band
But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves
No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth !
home, farewell !
" And farewell, mother!-I have borne in lonely silence
long, But now the current of my soul grows passionate and
strong! And I will speak! though but the wind that wanders
through the sky, And but the dark deep-rustling pines and rolling streams
reply. Yes! I will speak !-within my breast whate'er hath
seem'd to be, There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gush'd
for thee! Brightly it would have gush’d, but thou, my mother! thou
hast thrown Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been
Then fare thee well! I leave thee not in loneliness to
pine, Since thou hast sons of statelier mien and fairer brow than
Forgive me that thou couldst not love !--it may be, that a
Yet from my burning heart may pierce, through thine,
when I am gone! And thou perchance mayst weep for him on whom thou
ne'er hast smiled. And the grave give his birthright back to thy neglected
child ! Might but my spirit then return, and 'midst its kindred
dwell, And quench its thirst with love's free tears!'tis all a
"Farewell !"—the echo died with that deep word,
On the glad bosom of her child, and cried,
THE SULIOTE MOTHER.
It is related in a French Life of Ali Pacha, that several of the Suliote women, on the advance of the Turkish troops into their mountain fastnesses, assembled on a lofty summit, and, after chanting a wild song, precipitated themselves, with their children, into the chasm below, to avoid becoming the slaves of the enemy.
She stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the clear blue sky,
And a dark flash in her eye.
“Dost thou see them, boy ?—through the dusky pines