Year: 1878

wen VIII, WITHOUT OOnneU OF SnaWl Sne came 10


my house one night,
Said she had broken with Philip and if l would


have her might.
Shall ever forget that moment, when, shaking in


every limb.
seemed to hear music about me more solemn and
sweet than hymnl
We were married within the month, and Philip had
gone away
A happier man than never looked on the light of
dayl
whistled from morning to night, and was blithe
as a bird on the wing
All lad that a strong mans soul should hang on
weak a thing
I don't remember exactly when first noticed the
change,
But know that soon something struck me not


like herself and strange;
Her dimples were not so deep round her lit


tie chin,
And her eyes grew brighter and brighter as her


checks seemed following in.
She watched my every turn with her large blue


wistful eyes,
AS though she had something to say-she full


of trouble and signs;
thought she sick tor a sight of the old folks
down at the MILL
But she wouldn't go near her mother and that
made me uneasy Will
She fretted deal at last and the child when twas
born wasn't strong;
But like the fool that was, didn't think what
was wrong
Till came unawares upon her in the beech-copse
yOnder she lay
In heap with letter from Philip
-. and sobbing her heart away.
1t was well she died as she did; she was spared
from heavier fate
For when he came home from sea, he came just
week too late:
The osiers were binding her bed, and the May rose
had burst into bloom
When heard he was back in the village. Twas


close on the evening gloom
had opened the churchyard gate, with an armful


of lilac flowers
To deck out her grave little mot green yet in


spite of the shOwers),
When paused without dropping the latch, for


Philip standing there
With his arms hanging down at his sides, and his
lips on the work as in prayer.
was sorry for him, right sorry-he was so strick-


and wan
His face when he lifted it up was the face of an


aged man;
The look that he gave when he saw me will never


pass out of my sight,
But couldn't give him my hand, viii, couldn't,


try as might!
So you see was left with the baby. Could you


think such little boy
Could grow all the world to me, my all of sorrow


or joyq
No hands touched him but mine-don't smile, lad


washed him, and fed,
And watched till he fell asleep every night by his


cradle-bed.
carried him in my arms, and played with his cur


ly hair,
His eyes, the picture OF hers, were sometimes hard
to bear,
But grew a better man, Will, than ever before
had been,
With her baby boy to live for and her grave to
keep neat and green.
'Tis wonderful, Will these children, how soon they
come to knowl
1t didn't seem any time before he could laugh and
crow,
And stretch out his little arms when he saw me
coming nigh
The best child ever born-and never the one to
| cry!
Sometimes used to lift the hem of his baby-clothes
And nurse his tiny feet, pnkish white, like wild
hedge-rose,
And wonder through what rough paths they would
| tread in the years to come
didn't think then they'd be taking the safest and
| surest home.
Three years old when he diedl and just beginning
to talk,


To prattle to Rover and me- and toddle about in
| the walk
1t makes you sometimes doubt if things are so
right after all,
| When the weeds left to flourish and the bios
SONS are made to fall.
You've some of your own at home-youd like to


see him maybel
1t can only do you good, viii, to think upon him


and mel


You'll feel the goodness of God you felt it
before


When the young ones hear your footsteps, and rush


to the cottage door!
Do you hear that moaning noiseq It's Rover down
| in the yard;
I'd mind to shoot him the morn and yet 'twould


be rather hard;
The boy was fond o. the dog, and the poor brute
Being old, and scarce able to crawl, he misses my
| darling so
That's his hat on the peg, and yonder his poor lit
| tie toys
1t grieves me above bit that I've ever been yexed


at the noise
NoW I'd give worlds to hear it. even though it were
| ten times more
o Will how my heart sinks down as we come neal
| the bedroom doori
There he lies in his cot, so quiet and happy and


still,
He looks more like his mother than ever saw him
| viii.


What a selfish fool am l. to regret that he's gone
from here,


For hasn't his face a SMILE ladl and that's better
| sure than a tearl
Death is sweeter than life, and slumber is sweete,


than pain,


'Tis such hard fight, old man. and we have SC
little to gainl


Who knows what he might have come to had h.


lived to be old as wet
If life is good thing viii, it's better thing NO
to be


Those snowdrops he picked himself that he hold
in his tiny hands,