The door was off the latch; they peep'd, and saw The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees, And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks, out And babbled for the golden seal that hung "Oh, Father! if you let me call you soI never came a-begging for myself, Or William, or this child; but now I come The troubles I have gone through !' Then he turned His face and passed-unhappy that I am! But now, sir, let me have my boy; for you And let all this be as it was before." So Mary said, and Dora hid her face By Mary. There was silence in the room; And all at once the old man burst in sobs :— "I have been to blame-to blame. I have killed my son. I have killed him-but I loved him-my dear son. May God forgive me!-I have been to blame. Kiss me, my children." times. Then they clung about The old man's neck, and kissed him many And all the man was broken with remorse; And all his love came back a hundredfold; And for three hours he sobbed o'er William's child, Thinking of William. So those four abode Within one house together; and as years Tennyson. U A FAREWELL. Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, No more by thee my steps shall be, Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, No where by thee my steps shall be, But here will sigh thine alder tree, A thousand suns will stream on thee, For ever and for ever. Tennyson. SONG. BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play!" O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Tennyson. THE THREE SONS. I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould. They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish years. I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair, And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air; I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me, But loveth yet his mother more with grateful fervency; But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills his mind, The food for grave enquiring speech he everywhere doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk; He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. |