94 ONE IN CAPTIVITY. 



One white hand shades her snowy brow ; 



The other, with fond curl, 

 Is clasping to her careful breast 



A laughing, infant girl : 



Fair little child, it too would see 



The gliding vessel come, 

 That brings her parent once again 



To his ancestral home. 



The stem, old man grows pale — a strange. 



Dark meaning glooms his eye 

 Strained on the yacht — the Neuha bears 



Her ensign half-mast high. 



Oh ! mournfully — most mournfully 



She seems to move along, 

 The sea's low voice, the wind's light breath 



Are now a funeral song. 



He died — the island-lord — alone 



Upon die wide — wide sea 

 Where struggling winds around made moan 



And weaved his elegy. 



Franz. 



ONE IN CAPTIVITY. 



There are voices, happy voices, through the mountain singing 

 Some rejoicing strain : 

 Oh, the sounds ! Their gush is flinging 

 Madness o'er my brain. 



Through the purple-clustered vineyards, laughing streams are 

 To their parent sea : [sweeping 



Must I live — and see them leaping 

 Boundless — bondless — Free ? 



Round my cold and grated dungeon, winged airs are hieing 

 With a blithsome tone : 

 Yet I list, and hear them sighing 

 " Thou art fettered— lone ! " 



Sometimes, in the twilight calm, I hear a harpstring quiver 

 To a song of home : 

 Then a cold-convulsive shiver 

 Calls on Death to come. Franz. 



