 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
The mother's will was law—alas for her
That hapless day, poor soul! She could not err,
Thought Ambrose; and his little fair-haired Jane,
Her namesake, to his heart he hugged again,
When each had had her turn, she clinging so
As if that day she could not let him go.
But Labour's sons must snatch a hasty bliss
In nature's tenderest mood. One last fond kiss—
“God bless my little maids!” the father said,
And cheerly went his way to win their bread.
Then might be seen, the playmate parent gone,
What looks demure the sister pair put on—
Not of the mother as afraid or shy,
Or questioning the love that could deny,
But simply, as their simple training taught,
In quiet, plain straightforwardness of thought
(Submissively resigned the hope of play),
Towards the serious business of the day.
That hapless day, poor soul! She could not err,
Thought Ambrose; and his little fair-haired Jane,
Her namesake, to his heart he hugged again,
When each had had her turn, she clinging so
As if that day she could not let him go.
But Labour's sons must snatch a hasty bliss
In nature's tenderest mood. One last fond kiss—
“God bless my little maids!” the father said,
And cheerly went his way to win their bread.
Then might be seen, the playmate parent gone,
What looks demure the sister pair put on—
Not of the mother as afraid or shy,
Or questioning the love that could deny,
But simply, as their simple training taught,
199
(Submissively resigned the hope of play),
Towards the serious business of the day.
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |