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214 ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER.

My soldier's fare is poor and scant—'t is what my comrades share,
Yon heaven my only canopy—but that I well can bear;
A dull and feverish weight of pain is pressing on my brow,
And I am faint with recent wounds—for that I care not now.

But oh, I long once more to view my childhood's dwelling-place,
To clasp my mother to my heart—to see my father's face!
To list each well remember'd tone, to gaze on every eye
That met my ear, or thrill'd my heart, in moments long gone by.

In vain with long and frequent draught of every wave I sip,—
A quenchless and consuming thirst is every on my lip!
The very air that fans my cheek no blessed coolness brings,—
A burning heat or chilling damp is ever on its wings.

Oh! let me seek my home once more—for but a little while—
But once above my couch to see my mother's gentle smile;
It haunts me in my waking hours—'t is ever in my dreams,
With all the pleasant paths of home, rocks, woods, and shaded streams.

There is a fount,—I know it well—it springs beneath a rock, 
Oh, how its coolness and its light, my feverish fancies mock!
I pine to lay be by its side, and bathe my lips and brow,
'Twould give new fervour to the heart that eats so languid now.

I may not—I must linger here—perchance it may be just!
But well I know this yearning soon will scorch my heart to dust!
One breathing of my native air had call'd me back to life—
But I must die—must waste away beneath this inward strife.


ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER. 215

THE DEVOTED

IT was a beautiful turn given by a gerat lady, who being asked where her husband was, when he lay concealed for having been deeply concerned in a conspiracy, resolutely answered that she had hidden him. This confessions caused her to be carried before the governor, who told her that nought but confessing where she had hidden him could save her from the torture. "And will that do?" said she. "Yes," replied the governor, "I will pass my word for your safety, on that condition." "Then," replied she, "I have hidden him in my heart, where you may find him."

STERN faces were around them bent, and eyes of vengeful ire, 
And fearful were the words they spake of torture, stake, and fire:
Yet calmly in the midst she stood, with eye undimm’d and clear,
And though her lip and cheek were white, she wore no sign of fear. 

“Where is thy traitor spouse?” They said;—a half-form’s smile of scorn,
That curl’s upon her haughty lip, was back for answer borne;—
“Where is thy traitor spouse?” Again, in fiercer notes, they said,
And sternly pointed to the rack, all rusted o’er with red!

Her heart and pulse beat firm and free— but in a crimson flood,
O’er pallid lip and cheek and brow, rush’s up the burning blood;
She spake, but proudly rose her tones, as when in hall or bower. 
The haughtiest chief that round her stood has meekly own’d their power;

“My noble Lord is placed within a safe and sure retreat”—
“Now tell us where, thou lady bright, as thou wouldst mercy meet,

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 14:43:00 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 09:24:50