Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise
To God that help'd her in her widowhood.
And Dora said: 'My uncle took the boy;
But, Mary, let me live and work with you :
He says that he will never see me more.'
Then answer'd Mary, 'This shall never be,
That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself:
And, now I think, he shall not have the boy,
For he will teach him hardness, and to slight
His mother: therefore thou and I will go,
And I will have my boy, and bring him home;
And I will beg of him to take thee back;
And if he will not take thee back again,
Then thou and I will live within one house,
And work for William's child until he grows
Of age to help us.'

So the women kiss'd

Each other, and set out and reach'd the farm. The door was off the latch; they peep'd and saw The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees,

Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm,

And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks,
Like one that loved him: and the lad stretch'd out
And babbled for the golden seal that hung
From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire.
Then they came in ; but when the boy beheld
His mother, he cried out to come to her:
And Allan sat him down, and Mary said:
'O Father!—if you let me call me so—
́I never came a-begging for myself,

Or William, or this child; but now I come
For Dora: take her back; she loves you well ;
O Sir, when William died, he died at peace
With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said,

He could not ever rue his marrying me.

I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said
That he was wrong to cross his father thus:
"God bless him!" he said, "and may he never know
The troubles I have gone through!" then he turn'd
His face and pass'd—unhappy that I am!

But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you
Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight
His father's memory; and take Dora back,
And let all this be as it was before.'

So Mary said, and Dora hid her face
By Mary. There was silence in the room,
And all at once the old man burst in sobs :-

'I have been to blame-to blame! I have kill'd my

son!

I have kill'd him-but I loved him-my dear son !
May God forgive me!—I have been to blame.
Kiss me, my children!'

Then they clung about
The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times,
And all the man was broken with remorse;

And all his love came back a hundredfold;

And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child, Thinking of William.

So those four abode Within one house together; and as years Went forward, Mary took another mate; But Dora lived unmarried till her death.

A. Tennyson

CLXIX

A WITCH

Spoken by a Countryman

There's that old hag Moll Brown, look, see, just past! I wish the ugly sly old witch

Would tumble over in the ditch;

I wouldn't pick her out not very fast.

I don't think she's belied, 'tis clear's the sun
That she's a witch if ever there was one.

Yes, I do know just hereabout of two

Or three folk that have learnt what Moll can do.
She did, one time, a pretty deal of harm

To Farmer Gruff's folks, down at Lower Farm.
One day, you know, they happen'd to offend her,
And not a little to their sorrow,

Because they would not give or lend her
The thing she came to beg or borrow;
And so, you know, they soon began to find

That she'd a-left her evil wish behind.

She soon bewitch'd them; and she had such power,
That she did make their milk and ale turn sour,

And addle all the eggs their fowls did lay;
They couldn't fetch the butter in the churn,
And cheeses soon began to turn

All back again to curds and whey.

The little pigs a-running with the sow

Did sicken somehow, nobody knew how,

And fall, and turn their snouts towards the sky,
And only give one little grunt and die;

And all the little ducks and chicken

Were death-struck while they were a-pickin'

Their food, and fell upon their head,

And flapp'd their wings and dropp'd down dead.

They couldn't fat the calves; they wouldn't thrive;

They couldn't save their lambs alive;

Their sheep all took the rot and gave no woɔl;

Their horses fell away to skin and bones,

And got so weak they couldn't pull

A half a peck of stones;

The dog got dead-alive and drowsy,
The cat fell sick and wouldn't mousey ;
And if the wretched souls went up to bed

The hag did come and ride them all half dead.
They used to keep her out o' the house 'tis true,
A-nailing up at door a horse's shoe;

And I've a-heard the farmer's wife did try
To drive a needle or a pin

In through her old hard wither'd skin
And draw her blood, a-coming by ;

But she could never fetch a drop,

She bent the pin and broke the needle's top

Against her skin, you know, and that, in course,
Did only make the hag bewitch them worse.
W. Barnes

CLXX

NURSERY RHYMES

I

Jenny Wren fell sick;

Upon a merry time,

In came Robin Redbreast,

And brought her sops of wine.

Eat well of the sop, Jenny,
Drink well of the wine;
Thank you Robin kindly,
You shall be mine.

Jenny she got well,

And stood upon her feet,
And told Robin plainly
She loved him not a bit.

Robin, being angry,
Hopp'd on a twig,

Saying, Out upon you,

Fye upon you, bold-faced jig!

2

There were three jovial Welshmen,
As I have heard them say,
And they would go a-hunting
Upon St. David's day.

All the day they hunted,
And nothing could they find,

But a ship a-sailing,

A-sailing with the wind.

One said it was a ship,

The other he said, nay;

The third said it was a house,
With the chimney blown away.