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86 Läsebok. N:o 62.
There many an humble green grave shewed
Where want, and pain, and toil did rest,
And many a flatteriug stone I viewed
O’er those who once had wealth possessed.
A faded beech its shadow brown
Threw o’er a grave where sorrow slept,
On which, though scarce with grass o’ergrown,
Two ragged children sat and wept.
A piece of bread between them lay,
Which neither seemed inclined to take,
And yet they looked so much a prey
To want, it made my heart to ache.
»My little children, let me know
Why you in such distress appear,
And why you wasteful from you throw
That bread which many a one might cheer?»
The little boy in accents sweet
Replied, while tears each other chased —
»Oh, sir! we’ve not enough to eat.
Oh! if we had, we should not waste.
But sister Mary’s naughty grown,
And will not eat, whate’er I say,
Though sure I am the bread’s her own,
For she has tasted none to-day».
»Indeed», the wan starved Mary said,
»Till Henry eats, I’ll eat no more,
For yesterday I got some bread,
He’s had none since the day before».
My heart did swell, my bosom heave,
I felt as though deprived of speech,
Silent I sat upon the grave,
And clasped the clay-cold hand of each.
With looks that told a tale of woe,
With looks that spoke a grateful heart,
The shivering boy then nearer drew,
And did his simple tale impart.
»Before my father went away,
Enticed by bad men o’er the sea,
Sister and I did nought but play —
We lived beside yon great ash-tree.
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