The Rock Of The Betrayed

by Caroline Sheridon Norton

 Rock Of The Betrayed


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But vain the music of her tongue
Against the hate they bore;
And when a babe her love had blessed
They hated her the more.

They hated her the more because
That babe must be the heir,
And his dark and lovely eyes at times
His mother's look would wear.

But lo! the keen cold winter came
With many a bitter blast:
It pierced thro' sickly Allan's frame, -
He drooped and died at last!

Oh! mournfully at early morn
That young wife sat and wept, -
And mournfully, when day was done,
To her widowed couch she crept, -

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