That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself: For he will teach him hardness, and to slight His mother; therefore thou and I will go, But if he will not take thee back again, Then thou and I will live within one house, So the women kiss'd Each other, and set out, and reach'd the farm. The door was off the latch: they peep'd, and saw The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees, Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm, And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks, Like one that loved him: and the lad stretch'd out And babbled for the golden seal, that hung From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire. Then they came in: but when the boy beheld His mother, he cried out to come to her: Or William, or this child; but now I come I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said His face and pass'd-unhappy that I am! But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight father's memory; and take Dora back, 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 kill'd my son. I have kill'd him-but I loved him-my dear son. May God forgive me!--I have been to blame. Kiss me, my children." Then they clung about The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times. And all the man was broken with remorse; And all his love came back a hundredfold; And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child Thinking of William. So those four abode Within one house together; and as years Humm'd like a hive all round the narrow quay, To Francis, with a basket on his arm, To Francis just alighted from the boat, And breathing of the sea. "With all my heart," Said Francis. Then we shoulder'd thro' the swarm, And rounded by the stillness of the beach To where the bay runs up its latest horn. We left the dying ebb that faintly lipp'd The flat red granite; so by many a sweep Of meadow smooth from aftermath we reach'd The griffin-guarded gates, and pass'd thro' all And cross'd the garden to the gardener's lodge, There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid A damask napkin wrought with horse and hound, A flask of cider from his father's vats, Prime, which I knew; and so we sat and eat |