DICK'S RECITATIONS AND READINGS. NUMBER SIX. THE SPANISH. MOTHER. SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. Supposed to be related by a veteran French officer. Yes! I have served that noble chief throughout his proud career, But now my heart is darkened with shadows that rise and fall Spain. I saw a village in the hills, as silent as a dream, Nought stirring but the summer sound of a merry mountain stream; The evening star just smiled from heaven with its quiet silver eye, And the chestnut woods were still and calm beneath the deepening sky. But in that place, self-sacrificed, nor man nor beast we found, Nor fig-tree on the sun-touched slope, nor corn upon the ground; Each roofless hut was black with smoke, wrenched up each trailing vine, Each path was foul with mangled meat and floods of wasted wine. We lighted on one dying man, they slew him where he lay; His wife, close-clinging, from the corpse they tore and wrenched away; They thundered in her widowed ears, with frowns and curses grim, "Food, woman-food and wine, or else we tear thee limb from limb." The woman, shaking off his blood, rose, raven-haired and tall, And our stern glances quailed before one sterner far than all. "Both food and wine," she said, "I have; I meant them for the dead, But ye are living still, and so let them be yours instead." The food was brought, the wine was brought out of a secret place, She sat, and calmly soothed her child into a slumber sweet; |