Her jostled glasses and tumbled cap.
Big George's hands the trunk unstrap
And bear it in; while two light-heeled
Young Mercuries fly to the mowing field,
And shriek and beckon, and meet half-way
The old gran'ther, lame and gaunt and gray,
Coat on arm, half in alarm,
Striding over the stony farm.
The good news clears his cloudy face,
And he cries, as he quickens his anxious pace, 'Tom? Tom come home?"
With twitching cheek and quivering lid
(A soft heart under the hard lines hid),
And "Tom, how d'e do?" in a husky voice,
He grasps with rough, strong hand the boy's-
A boy's no more. "I should n't have known
That beard." While Tom's fine baritone
Rolls out from his deep chest cheerily,
"You're hale as ever, I'm glad to see."
In the low back porch the mother stands,
And rubs her glasses with trembling hands,
And, smiling with eyes that blear and blink,
Chimes in, "I never!" and "Only think!
Our Tom's come home!"
With question and joke and anecdote,
He brushes his hat, they dust his coat,
While all the household gathers near
Tanned urchins, eager to see and hear,
And large-eyed, dark-eyed, shy young mother,
Widow of Tom's unlucky brother,
Who turned out ill, and was drowned at the
The stricken old people mourn him still,
And the hope of their lives in him undone;
But grief for the dissolute, ruined son—
Their best beloved and oldest boy -
Is all forgotten, or turned to joy
Now Tom's come home.
Yet Tom was never the favored child,
Though Tom was steady, and Will was wild;
But often his own and his brother's share
Of blows or blame he was forced to bear;
Till at last he said, "Here is no room
For both I go!" Now he to whom
Scant grace was shown has proved the one
Large-hearted, upright, trusty son;
And well may the old folks joy to find
His brow so frank and his eye so kind,
No shadow of all the past allowed
To trouble the present hour, or cloud
His welcome home.
His trunk unlocked, the lid he lifts,
And lays out curious, costly gifts;
For Tom has prospered since he went
Into his long self-banishment.
Each youngster's glee, as he hugs his share,
The widow's surprise, and the old folks' air
Of affectionate pride in a son so good,
Thrill him with generous gratitude.
And he thinks, "Am I that lonely lad
Who went off friendless, poor, and sad
That dismal day from my father's door?"
And can it be true he is here once more
In his childhood's home?
'Tis hard to think of his brother dead,
And a widow and orphans here in his stead —
So little seems changed since they were young!
The row of pegs where the hats were hung;
The checkered chimney and hearth of bricks;
The sober old clock with its lonesome ticks
And shrill, loud chime for the flying time;
The stairs the bare feet used to climb,
Tom chasing his wild bedfellow Will;
And there is the small, low bedroom still,
And the table he had when a little lad:
Ah, Tom, does it make you sad or glad,
This coming home?
Tom's heart is moved. "Now don't mind me!
I am no stranger guest," cries he.
And, father, I say!"— with the old-time laugh – "Don't kill for me any fatted calf!
But go now and show me the sheep and swine
And the cattle where is that colt of mine?
And the farm and cropsis harvest over?
I'd like a chance at the oats and clover!
I can mow, you'll find, and cradle and bind,
Load hay, stow away, pitch, rake behind;
For I know a scythe from a well-sweep yet.
In an hour I'll make you quite forget
That I've been 'from home."
They visit the field. Tom mows with the men: And now they come round to the porch again.
The mother draws Tom aside; lets sink
Her voice to a whisper, and-"What do you think?
You see," she says, "he is broken quite.
Sometimes he tosses and groans all night,
And Tom, it is hard, it is hard indeed!
The mortgage, and so many mouths to feed!
But tell him he must not worry so,
And work so hard, for he don't know
That he hasn't the strength of a younger man.
Counsel him, comfort him, all you can,
While you're at home."
Tom's heart is full; he moves away,
And ponders what he will do and say.
And now at evening all are met,
The tea is drawn, the table set;
But when the old man, with bended head,
In reverent, fervent tones has said
The opening phrase of his simple grace,
He falters, the tears course down his face;
For the words seem cold, and the sense of the old ...oole hic iou to hold: Long should tell the little children why the Curfew did not ring that night.
O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him, and her brow,
Full of hope and full of gladness, has no anxious traces now;
At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn;
And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn,
From this time forth you are free from care;
Your troubles I share; your burdens I bear.
So promise to quit hard work, and say
That you'll give yourselves a holiday.
Now, father! now, mother! you can't refuse;
For what's a son for, and what's the use
Of his coming home?"
And so there is cheer in the house to-night;
It can hardly hold so much delight.
Tom wanders forth across the lot,
And, under the stars-though Tom is not
So pious as boys sometimes have been-
Thanks heaven, that turned his thoughts from sin,
And blessed him and brought him home once more.
And now he knocks at a cottage door,
For one who has waited many a year
In hope that thrilling sound to hear;
Who, happy as other hearts may be,
Knows well there is none so glad as she
That Tom's come home.
But go now and show me the sheep and swine
And the cattle-where is that colt of mine?
And the farm and crops - is harvest over?
I'd like a chance at the oats and clover!
I can mow, you'll find, and cradle and bind,
Load hay, stow away, pitch, rake behind;
For I know a scythe from a well-sweep yet,
In an hour I'll make you quite forget
That I've been from home."
They visit the field. Tom mows with the men: And now they come round to the porch again.
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