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And I will set him in my uncle's eye
And Dora took the child, and went her way
And spied her not; for none of all his men
But when the morrow came, she rose and took The child once more, and sat upon the mound; And made a little wreath of all the flowers That grew about, and tied it round his hat To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. Then when the farmer passed into the field He spied her, and he left his men at work, And came and said: "Where were you yesterday? Whose child is that? What are you doing here?" So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground,
And answered softly: "This is William's child!" "And did I not," said Allan, "did I not Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again : "Do with me as you will, but take the child And bless him for the sake of him that's gone!" And Allan said: "I see it is a trick
Got up betwixt you and the woman there.
So saying, he took the boy, that cried aloud
Remembering the day when first she came,
Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood
So the women kissed Each other, and set out and reached the farm. The door was off the latch; they peeped 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 stretched 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 : And Allan sat him down, and Mary said: O Father!-if you let me call you soI never came a-begging for myself,
Or William, or this child; but now I come
With all men; for I asked him, and he said,
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!
Then they clung about The old man's neck, and kissed him many times. And all the man was broken with remorse; And all his love came back a hundred fold; 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 Went forward, Mary took another mate; But Dora lived unmarried till her death.
"THE Bull, the Fleece are crammed, and not a
For love or money. Let us picnic there
I spoke, while Audley feast
Hummed like a hive all round the narrow quay,
And rounded by the stillness of the beach
We left the dying ebb that faintly lipped
There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid A damask napkin wrought with horse and hound, Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home, And, half-cut-down, a pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied; last, with these, A flask of cider from his father's vats, Prime, which I knew; and so we sat and eat And talked old matters over: who was dead, Who married, who was like to be, and how The races went, and who would rent the hall : Then touched upon the game, how scarce it was This season: glancing thence, discussed the farm, The fourfield system and the price of grain; And struck upon the corn-laws, where we split, And came again together on the king With heated faces; till he laughed aloud; And, while the blackbird on the pippin hung To hear him, clapt his hand in mine and sang"O! who would fight and march and countermarch,
Be shot for sixpence in a battle-field,
And shovelled up into a bloody trench
"Who'd serve the state? for if I carved my name Upon the cliffs that guard my native land, I might as well have traced it in the sands; The sea wastes all but let me live my life.
"O! who would love? I wooed a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind, And all my heart turned from her, as a thorn Turns from the sea: but let me live my life."
He sang his song, and I replied with mine: I found it in a volume, all of songs, Knocked down to me, when old Sir Robert's pride, His books-the more the pity, so I saidCame to the hammer here in March-and thisI set the words, and added names I knew.
Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, sleep, and dream of me: Sleep, Ellen, folded in thy sister's arm,
And sleeping, haply dream her arm is mine.
Sleep, Ellen, folded in Emilia's arm ; Emilia, fairer than all else but thou,
For thou art fairer than all else that is.
Sleep, breathing health and peace upon her
Sleep, breathing love and trust against her lip: