THE BEREAVED FATHER. 283
They told me how the fever rag'd, and, in his broken
dream, How he call'd upon the absent, with shrill and frantic
scream, How he set his teeth on cup and spoon, with hated
medicine fraught, But, at his father's treasur'd name, he took the bitterest
draught.
God gave me strength to lay him where his young mo- ther slept.
The fragrant vines she used to train around her feet had crept,
But I cut their roots away, that the bud she lov'd the best
Might spread its wither 'd petals upon her pulseless breast.
And now I wander wide beneath a foreign sky,
In the stranger's home I lodge, for no household hearth
have I, There are grey hairs on my temples, despite my early
years, But I find there's still a comfort in drying others' tears.
Why should I cloud my brow ? Or yield to dark despair ? All, all men are my brethren, and this fruitful earth is fair,
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