The shepherd on Tornaro's misty brow, And the swart seaman, sailing far below, Not undelighted watch the morning ray Purpling the orient-till it breaks away, And burns and blazes into glorious day! But happier still is he who bends to trace The thoughts and passions stirring into life; What then a Father's feelings? Joy and Fear That, when he dies and through the world they go, Some men may pause and say, when some admire, "They are his sons, and worthy of their sire!" But Man is born to suffer. On the door All now in anguish from that room retire, M . The medicine-cup is taken. Through the night, And through the day, that with its dreary light Comes unregarded, she sits silent by, Watching the changes with her anxious eye: While they without, listening below, above, (Who but in sorrow know how much they love?) Such grief was ours-it seems but yesterday— (That child how cherished, whom he would not give, |