His niece and said: My girl, I love you well; Dora But if you speak with him that was my son, Or change a word with her he calls his wife, My home is none of yours. My will is law.' And Dora promised, being meek. She thought, 'It cannot be my uncle's mind will change!
And days went on, and there was born a boy To William; then distresses came on him; And day by day he pass'd his father's gate, Heart-broken, and his father help'd him not. But Dora stored what little she could save, And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know Who sent it; till at last a fever seized On William, and in harvest time he died. Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat And look'd with tears upon her boy, and thought Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said 'I have obey'd my uncle until now, And I have sinn'd, for it was all thro' me This evil came on William at the first. But, Mary, for the sake of him that's gone, And for your sake, the woman that he chose, And for this orphan, I am come to you: You know there has not been for these five So full a harvest let me take the boy, And I will set him in my uncle's eye Among the wheat; that when his heart is glad Of the full harvest, he may see the boy, And bless him for the sake of him that's gone.'
And Dora took the child, and went her Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound That was unsown, where many poppies grew. Far off the farmer came into the field And spied her not; for none of all his men
Dora Dare tell him Dora waited with the child; eff And Dora would have risen and gone to him, But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.
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 pass'd into the field He spied her, and he left his men at work And came and said, 'Where were you yester- day?
Whose child is that? What are you doing here?v
So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground, A And answer'd 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. I must be taught my duty, and by you! You knew my word was law, and yet you To slight it. Well-for I will take the boy; But go you hence, and never see me more.'
So saying, he took the boy that cried aloud And struggled hard. The wreath of flowers wow fell dow
At Dora's feet. She bow'd upon her hands, And the boy's cry came to her from the field, More and more distant. She bow'd down her huA
head, I lie to snow now 2300 ad baige, fu
Remembering the day when first she came, And all the things that had been. She bow'd
And wept in secret; and the reapers reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.d Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise To God, that help'd her in her widowhood. And Dora said, 'My uncle took the boy; But, Mary, let me live and work with you: He says that he will never see me more.' Then answer'd Mary, This shall never be, That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself: And, now I think, he shall not have the boy, For he will teach him hardness, and to slight His mother; therefore thou and I will go, And I will have my boy, and bring him home; And I will beg of him to take thee back: But if he will not take thee back again, Then thou and I will live within one house, And work for William's child, until he grows Of age to help us.'
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
The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees, I 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
And babbled for the golden seal, that hung
From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire.
Dora Then they came in: but when the boy beheld His mother, he cried out to come to her, And Allan set him down, and Mary said: "O Father!-if you let me call I never came a-begging for myself, Or William, or this child; but now I come For Dora: take her back; she loves you well. O Sir, when William died, he died at peace With all men ; for I ask'd him, and he said, He could not ever rue his marrying me; I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said That he was wrong to cross his father thus. "God bless him!" he said, "and may he never know
The troubles I have gone thro'!" Then he turn'd
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 slightro
His 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
May God forgive me!-I have been to blame. Kiss me, my children.'
The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many dunge bos joker efirullh mos f
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
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 cramm'd, and not
For love or money. Let us picnic there
I spoke, while Audley feast 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.
Said Francis. Then we shoulder'd thro' the
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 The pillar'd dusk of sounding sycamores,
« PoprzedniaDalej » |