‘ Remember what you promis'd me:
‘ And see, the Sun is getting low;
‘ The Children want an hour ye see
‘ To talk a bit before we go.’
Like youthful Lover most complying
He turn'd, and chuckt her by the chin:
Then all across the green grass hieing,
Right merry faces, all akin,
Their farewell quart, beneath a
That droop'd its branches from above,
Awak'd the pure felicity
That waits upon PARENTAL LOVE.
KATE view'd her blooming Daughters round,
And Sons, who shook her wither'd hand;
Her features spoke what joy she found;
But utterance had made a stand.