Till she began to totter, and the child Which mixt with little Margaret's, and I woke, And my dream awed me:-well—but what are dreams? Yours came but from the breaking of a glass, And mine but from the crying of a child.' 'Child? No!' said he, 'but this tide's roar, and his, Our Boanerges with his threats of doom, And loud-lung'd Antibabylonianisms (Altho' I grant but little music there) Went both to make your dream: but if there were Sphere-music such as that you dream'd about, The discords dear to the musician. No One shriek of hate would jar all the hymns of heaven: True Devils with no ear, they howl in tune With nothing but the Devil!' ""True" indeed! One of our town, but later by an hour Here than ourselves, spoke with me on the shore; Good man, to please the child. She brought strange news. Why were you silent when I spoke to-night? I had set my heart on your forgiving him Before you knew. We must forgive the dead.' 'Dead! who is dead?' 'The man your eye pursued. A little after you had parted with him, He suddenly dropt dead of heart-disease.' 'Dead? he? of heart-disease? what heart had he To die of? dead!' 'Ah, dearest, if there be A devil in man, there is an angel too, And if he did that wrong you charge him with, Saying this, The woman half turn'd round from him she loved, What does little birdie say What does little baby say, Baby says, like little birdie, Baby, sleep a little longer, 'She sleeps: let us too, let all evil, sleep. Then the man, 'His deeds yet live, the worst is yet to come. Yet let your sleep for this one night be sound: I do forgive him!' 'Thanks, my love,' she said, 'Your own will be the sweeter,' and they slept. THE GRANDMOTHER. A I. ND Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man. And Willy's wife has written: she never was over wise, Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice. II. For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save, Ḥad n't a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave. Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one. Eh!- but he would n't hear me and Willy, you say, is gone. III. Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock; Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock. 'Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; and he would be bound, There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round. IV. Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue! I ought to have gone before him: I wonder he went so young. I cannot cry for him, Annie: I have not long to stay ; Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away. V. Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold; But all my children have gone before me, I am so old: I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest; Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best. VI. For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, my dear, All for a slanderous story, that cost me many a tear. I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a world of woe, Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years ago. VII. For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and I knew right well That Jenny had tript in her time: I knew, but I would not tell. And she to be coming and slandering me, the base little liar! But the tongue is a fire as you know, my dear, the tongue is a fire. VIII. And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise, That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies, That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight. IX. And Willy had not been down to the farm for a week and a day; And all things look'd half-dead, tho' it was the middle of May. |