They pined in vain for that dear birdling flown,
Who, with swift wings had left them there alone.
Yet oft in gentle tones they spoke of thee
And longed they fair, young face once more to see.
Unto our far-off shore there sometimes came
Faint rumors of thy longed-for, new-found fame.
This gave them joy indeed, yet more of pain.
For thus they knew their hopes were all in vain.
Allured unto the world was thy young heart;---
The gay, bright world in which they had no part.
"But, ere thy mother's eyes were closed in sleep,
She gave to me a secret strange to keep;
'Twas this, that though they called thee daughter, child,
No blood of theirs flowed in thy veins, thy race
Was of a noble kind, to splendor born;
An ancestry who wore a kingly grace,
The traces of a lineage undefiled.
Upon thy brow their dauntless pride is worn---
But stay, thy mother, child, though strangely fair,
Was but a singer whose voice of wondrous power
Thine own is like, a voice that filled the air
With strange, sweet sounds, and oft, in many an hour,
Enchantment threw o'er all the eager throng
Who came to hear. Enthralled by her glad song
One young heart pined; low at her feet he laid
The glory of his life that she might wear
His crown of love. His wife she soon was made;
They lived awhile a happy, loving pair,
Until thou show'dst thy tiny, smiling face,
And then thy mother died that thou might'st live.
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