'Twas slander vile, young Harry saw upon the printed page; His mother dear, the victim, which caused the fires to rage; His cheeks grew pale with anguish, his heart could know no fear; He only thought of days gone by, and mother's name so dear. He only thought of years agone, when mother's face was young; Her arms were strong and willing, then, to guard her little son; But times have changed that youthful face, and age is creeping on, While he, in early manhood now, must be the stronger one. Shall he defend his mother's name? No duty is too great, Though prison walls or gallows high for him will anxious wait; And now within the lonely jail young Harry waits his doom; Though it be liberty or death, the time must shortly come. Oh, mothers dear and fathers, too! Oh, women, weak or strong! Remember Harry's cause is yours, for you he's suffered long; 'Twas not for gold or laurel wreath, 'twas not for praise or fame, 'Twas not for love of honors great, but love of woman's name. * * * * *