The Youthful Captive

The Youthful Captive

Securely chained to the walls of stone,
Within a dungeon damp and low—
There ne'er was heard a triendly tone;

A captive slept,

A youthful brow the captive bore,
And sadness deep his features wore,
For darksome clouds his spirit o'er

Had rudely swept

As daylight faded in the west,
All peaceful was the captive's rest,
No gloomy thoughts pervade his breast,

Nor doubts—nor fears,

For back he wandered in his dreams,
To childhood's haunts and gliding streams,
When o'er him fell the silver gleam

Of early years.

Again his mother's voice he heard,
Sweet as the carol of a bird,
With music fraught each gentle word,

His heart made light—

As in the blissful days of yore,
'Ere grief had swept his spirit o'er,
A father's care was his once more,

And all seemed bright.

In his sweet dreams of untold bliss,
Too holy for a world like this,
Upon his check a sister's kiss

He felt impressed;

A brother's hand again he grasped,
Which in his own he firmly clasped,
Throughout joyous scenes again he passed,

And he was blest!

With bounding beat and gladsome pride,
Once more he roamed the forest wide,
And climbed the rugged mountain's side,

As oft before

He'd done in young, glad, light-winged years,
Then he knew not of sorrow's tears,
And dreamed not life had griefs and fears

For him in store.

Ellesbo

1:30, p. 1

2.11.1860