Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.

By The Father’s Choice

Sarah J. Hale (1788–1879)

NOW fly, as flies the rushing wind—

Urge, urge thy lagging steed!

The savage yell is fierce behind,

And life is on thy speed.

And from those dear ones make thy choice—

The group he wildly eyed,

When “father!” burst from every voice,

And “child!” his heart replied.

There ’s one that now can share his toil,

And one he meant for fame,

And one that wears her mother’s smile,

And one that bears her name.

And one will prattle on his knee,

Or slumber on his breast;

And one whose joys of infancy,

Are still by smiles express’d.

They feel no fear while he is near;

He ’ll shield them from the foe:

But oh! his ear must thrill to hear

Their shriekings, should he go.

In vain his quivering lips would speak,

No words his thoughts allow;

There ’s burning tears upon his cheek,

Death’s marble on his brow.

And twice he smote his clenched hand—

Then bade his children fly!

And turn’d, and even that savage band

Cower’d at his wrathful eye.

Swift as the lightning wing’d with death,

Flash’d forth the quivering flame!

Their fiercest warrior bows beneath

The father’s deadly aim.

Not the wild cries, that rend the skies,

His heart or purpose move;

He saves his children, or he dies

The sacrifice of love.

Ambition goads the conqueror on,

Hate points the murderer’s brand—

But love and duty, these alone

Can nerve the good man’s hand.

The hero may resign the field,

The coward murderer flee;

He cannot fear, he will not yield,

That strikes, sweet love, for thee.

They come, they come—he heeds no cry,

Save the soft childlike wail,

“O father, save!” “My children, fly!”

Were mingled on the gale.

And firmer still he drew his breath,

And sterner flash’d his eye,

As fast he hurls the leaden death,

Still shouting, “children fly!”

No shadow on his brow appear’d,

Nor tremor shook his frame,

Save when at intervals he heard

Some trembler lisp his name.

In vain the foe, those fiends unchain’d,

Like famish’d tigers chafe,

The sheltering roof is near’d, is gain’d,

All, all the dear ones safe!