"
"'I do not ask to live with you,
I am not fit to live!'
(The beauteous mourner meekly cried
Approaching to our cot:)
'Your pity, to my babe and me,
Good aged friends! may give
All that we ask; to die with you,
To die, and be forgot!'"
"'Twas so the piteous pilgrim spake,
With eyes that glisten'd wild;
For privilege to die with you,
We give you all our gold;
For bitterer want, than want of wealth,
For want of love my child,
My child, must, like his mother, waste,
And both will soon be cold!"
"So speaking, to my dame she held
A lovely little boy,
Who speechless, yet seem'd sorely griev'd
To see his mother weep;
My good old dame is soft of heart.
And children are her joy;
So she, who cherished both her guests.
Soon lull'd the babe to sleep."
"But sleep to that sweet lady's eyes
Had seem'd to bid farewell,
And sometimes she would wildly say,
There's but one sleep for me!
So deep her woe sunk in her heart:
Tho' she was loath to tell,
My tender dame, discreetly guess'd,
What that deep woe must be."
"By cruel man, of cruel things,
Most cruel in his love!
This suffering innocent had been
To darkest frenzy driven;
Tho' in it's nature her soft heart
Is gentle as a dove,
And, save one frantic thought, ne'er had
A fault to be forgiven!"
"That frantic thought was a desire,
To end her wretched life;
But you shall hear how nature strove
To soothe her stormy breast:
For all her struggles, one and all,
She told my good old wife,
And how this little darling Goat,
She as her guardian-blest.
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