Your brother, is he well? Speak! Ah me! I loved him best; it is my
punishment At last! my love, my husband! Happy day! Hush ... a hymn
peals forth and wafts our thoughts to One above, a harmony of mingled
joy and sadness. The last solemn notes die away, and we separate--joyous
couples to make mirth together, sad widows to weep alone.
How strange to sit at a table once more, to hear again the melody of
girlish voices! "Sweet are looks that ladies bend on whom their favours
fall." Let us bask in the warmth of your smiles to-night; to-morrow the
cheerless veld again!
Tales to boil the blood are told, barbarous brutality. Our commandant's
daughter dragged before the provost-marshal. The gun found buried in
your yard; your father's work? No, my own. You lie! Out you go--property
confiscated, furniture sold; go seek the commandoes and ask them for
shelter!
A widow, husband killed. Clear out, furniture confiscated! Why? Your
sons are fighting; you are a rebel! I'll teach you to remember Major
C------.
But in a skirmish Major C------ is killed; joy of the widowed and
fatherless. Homage to our noble women, patient under persecution,
steadfast in adversity, cheerfully sending forth their nearest and
dearest to battle to the end!
On the morrow a sharp alarm note is sounded. An officer gallops from
house to house.
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