How the boy sleeps! Wouldst thou within the cottage rest, Stranger? Wouldst here Rather than ’neath the open heavens bide? Now it is cool. Here, take the boy. Let me go draw the water. Sleep, darling, sleep!
Sweet is thy rest. How, bathed in heavenly healthiness, Restful he breathes! Thou, born above the relics Of a most sacred past, Upon thee may its spirit rest. He whom it environeth Will in the consciousness of power divine Each day enjoy. Seedling so rich expand, The shining spring’s Resplendent ornament, In presence of thy fellows shine, And when the flower-sheathe fades and falls May from thy bosom rise The abounding fruit, And ripening, front the sun.
God bless him--and ever still he sleeps. Nought have I with this water clear Except a piece of bread to offer thee.
I give thee thanks. How gloriously all blooms around And groweth green!
My husband soon Home from the fields Returns. Stay, stay, O man, And eat with us thy evening bread.
There, between yonder walls, The cot. My father builded it Of brick, and of the wreckage stones. Here do we dwell. He gave me to a husbandman, And in our arms he died-- Sweetheart--and hast thou slept? How bright he is--and wants to play. My rogue!
O Nature! everlastingly conceiving. Each one thou bearest for the joy of life, All of thy babes thou hast endowed Lovingly with a heritage--a Name. High on the cornice doth the swallow build, Of what an ornament she hides All unaware. The caterpillar round the golden bough Spins her a winter quarters for her young. Thus dost thou patch in ’twixt the august Fragments of bygone time For needs of thine--for thy own needs A hut. O men-- Rejoicing over graves. Farewell, thou happy wife.
Where doth the pathway lead me Over the mountain there?
Farewell! O Nature! guide my way, The stranger’s travel-track Which over graves Of sacred times foregone I still pursue. Me to some covert guide, Sheltered against the north, And where from noontide’s glare A poplar grove protects. And when at eve I turn Home to the hut, Made golden with the sun’s last beam, Grant that such wife may welcome me, The boy upon her arm.