Woman
God bless him!—Is he sleeping still?
To the fresh draught I nought can add,
Saving a crust of bread for thee to eat.
Wanderer
I thank thee well.
How fair the verdure all around!
How green!
Woman
My husband soon
Will home return
From labour. Tarry, tarry, man,
And with us eat our evening meal.
Wanderer
Is’t here ye dwell?
Woman
Yonder, within those walls we live.
My father ’twas who built the cottage
Of tiles and stones from out the ruins.
’Tis here we dwell.
He gave me to a husbandman,
And in our arms expired.—
Hast thou been sleeping, dearest heart
How lively, and how full of play!
Sweet rogue!
WANDERER.
Nature, thou ever budding one,
Thou formest each for life’s enjoyments,
And, like a mother, all thy children dear,
Blessest with that sweet heritage,—a home
The swallow builds the cornice round,
Unconscious of the beauties
She plasters up.
The caterpillar spins around the bough,
To make her brood a winter house;
And thou dost patch, between antiquity’s
Most glorious relics,
For thy mean use,
Oh man, a humble cot,—
Enjoyest e’en mid tombs!—
Farewell, thou happy woman!