CHAPITRE X

Broken by son on son.

Thou hast an ear for Glory's cry, But Pity seldom caught thine eye...

And what then hast thou won ?

Much... yea, much more than thou hast known.

A long the Armorie shore how brave, How true those hearts whose early grave

Their mothers least bemoan.

Ye parents! none have been more fond ;

But other thoughts must now Repress your tears : look far beyond

Where heaven's pure light illumes the vow :

The lirst your children ever made

Was that their God should be obey'd,

His word for ever blest :

Therefore in His own peace they lie, Therefore (whence else?) your tears are And sure as theirs your rest.

Children are what tbe mothers are.

No fondest father^s wisest eare Can fashion so the infant heart As those créative beams that dart, With ail their hopes and fears, upon The cradle of a sleeping son.

His startled eyes with wonder see A father near him on his knee, Who wishes ail the while to trace The mother in his future face :

But 'tis to her alone uprise His wakening arms, to her those eyes Open with joy, and not surprise.

VIL ' 0 Muzillac ! o Penescluse !