70
THE FOREST BOY.
'Twas morn; and the wind with an hoarse sullen moan
Now seem'd dying away in the wood,
When the poor wretched mother still drooping, alone,
Beheld on the threshold a figure unknown,
In gorgeous apparel who stood.
"Your son is a soldier," abruptly cried he,
"And a place in our corps has obtain'd,
"Nay, be not cast down; you perhaps may soon see
"Your William a captain! he now sends by me
"The purse he already has gain'd."
