436
POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
While she, 'You know he never knew the day
When you would sail, but he believed you'd stay
Because he wrote—you never knew, you say,—
Wrote that in three days' time, they need not fear,
He'd come and then would marry you, my dear.
You never knew? And he had planned to live
At Glasgow, lessons had arranged to give.
Alas, then to Australia he went out,
All through the land to find you sought about,
And found a trace, which though it left a doubt,
Sufficed to make it still his grief, his joy,
To think he had a child, a living boy,
Whom you, my love—'
'His child is six foot high,
I've kept him as the apple of my eye,'
Cried she, 'he's riding, or you'd see him here.
O joy, that he at last should see his father dear!
As soon as he comes in I'll tell him all,
And on his father he shall go and call.'
'And you,' she said, 'my husband will you see?'
'O no, it is not possible for me.
The boy I'll send this very afternoon.
O dear, I know he cannot go too soon;
And something I must write, to write will do.'
So they embraced and sadly bade adieu.
The boy came in, his father went and saw;
We will not wait this interview to draw;
Ere long returned, and to his mother ran:
His father was a wonderful fine man,
He said, and looked at her; the Lady, too,
Had done whatever it was kind to do.
He loved his mother more than he could say,
But if she wished, he'd with his father stay.
When you would sail, but he believed you'd stay
Because he wrote—you never knew, you say,—
Wrote that in three days' time, they need not fear,
He'd come and then would marry you, my dear.
You never knew? And he had planned to live
At Glasgow, lessons had arranged to give.
Alas, then to Australia he went out,
All through the land to find you sought about,
And found a trace, which though it left a doubt,
Sufficed to make it still his grief, his joy,
To think he had a child, a living boy,
Whom you, my love—'
'His child is six foot high,
I've kept him as the apple of my eye,'
Cried she, 'he's riding, or you'd see him here.
O joy, that he at last should see his father dear!
As soon as he comes in I'll tell him all,
And on his father he shall go and call.'
'And you,' she said, 'my husband will you see?'
'O no, it is not possible for me.
The boy I'll send this very afternoon.
O dear, I know he cannot go too soon;
And something I must write, to write will do.'
So they embraced and sadly bade adieu.
The boy came in, his father went and saw;
We will not wait this interview to draw;
Ere long returned, and to his mother ran:
His father was a wonderful fine man,
He said, and looked at her; the Lady, too,
Had done whatever it was kind to do.
He loved his mother more than he could say,
But if she wished, he'd with his father stay.
