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 | The forest minstrel |  |
Who interrupts the sobbing parlance now?
A meagre-looking, tearful little girl
Advances, with a timid courtesy,—
“Madam,” she said, “you weep, and you can feel
For my poor mother's sorrow. Come, I pray,
And look upon her; she is very ill.”
A meagre-looking, tearful little girl
Advances, with a timid courtesy,—
“Madam,” she said, “you weep, and you can feel
For my poor mother's sorrow. Come, I pray,
And look upon her; she is very ill.”
“Go with her, mother;” whispered Rosabel,
“The Lord perchance has sent her to divert
The selfish current of our bitterness.”
“The Lord perchance has sent her to divert
The selfish current of our bitterness.”
| The forest minstrel | |