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THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE.
27
Maurteen Bruin.
You are a dear child;
The mother was quite cross before you came.
[Bridget returns with the honey, and goes to the dresser and fills a porringer with milk.
Bridget Bruin.
She is the child of gentle people; look
At her white hands and at her pretty dress.
I've brought you some new milk, but wait awhile,
And I will put it by the fire to warm,
For things well fitted for poor folk like us
Would never please a high-born child like you.
The Child.
Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn
Brightens above while you blow up the fire;
And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you work on because your heart is old.
Bridget Bruin.
The young are idle.
