O ELDER sister, though thou didst of yore

Forsake thy mother's ancient hall and flee

To be the chosen bride of Liberty,

She cherishes her grief and wrath no more,

Nor seeks her broken circle to restore,

Yet fain would clasp thee to her breast again,

But thou aloof uncertain dost remain.

O canst thou not the one mistake forget

Of her that bore thee, taught thy lips to frame

Thy early words, thy God in prayer to name;

That in the paths of right and justice set

Thy feet, where not infrequent walk they yet;

That stood devoted at thy youthful side,

Nor e'en her blood in thy defence denied?

But if thy younger sister yet abide

Content and happy in her mother's hall,

Nor feel the bond of blood a menial thrall,

But, leaning heart to heart, of choice confide

In mother yet as dearest guard and guide—

If thou wilt not thy mother's love regain,

Why must thy cradle sister plead in vain?

Yet all the best that bubbles in our veins

We sisters drew from that one Saxon breast.

Where oftentimes thy maiden cheek has pressed,

Mine resting still in loving trust remains.

Our bonds of blood should be unbroken chains!

Obey thy heart and grasp the proffered hand,

Then all the world our wills may not withstand.