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by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Heard you that shriek1? It rose So wildly on the air, It seemed as if a burden'd heart Was breaking in despair. Saw you those hands so sadly clasped—— The bowed and feeble head—— The shuddering2 of that fragile form—— That look of grief and dread3? Saw you the sad, imploring4 eye? Its every glance was pain, As if a storm of agony Were sweeping5 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 veins6! He is not hers, for cruel hands May rudely tear apart The only wreath of household love That binds7 her breaking heart. His love has been a joyous8 light That o'er her pathway smiled, Amid life's desert wild. His lightest word has been a tone Of music round her heart, Their lives a streamlet blent in one—— Oh, Father! must they part? They tear him from her circling arms, Her last and fond embrace. Oh! never more may her sad eyes Gaze on his mournful face. No marvel10, then, these bitter shrieks11 Disturb the listening air: She is a mother, and her heart Is breaking in despair. 点击收听单词发音
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