XCI.
I sought my home again; and thou, my child,
There at thy play beneath yon ancient pine,
With eyes, whose lightning laughter[297] hath beguiled
A thousand pangs, thence flashing joy to mine;
Thou in thy mother’s arms, a babe, didst meet
My coming with young smiles, which yet, though sweet,
Seem’d on my soul all mournfully to shine,
And ask a happier heritage for thee,
Than but in turn the blight of human hope to see.