A MOTHER TO AN EMPEROR.
I made him mine in pain and fright,
The only little lad I'd got,
And woke up aching night by night
To mind him in his baby cot;
And, whiles, I jigged him on my knee
And sang the way a mother sings,
Seeing him wondering up at me
Sewing his little things,
And never gave a thought to wars and kings.
I heard his prayers or smacked him good,
And watched him learning miles ahead
Of all his mother ever could,
Roughing my hands to set him bread;
And when he was a man I tried
Not to forget as he was grown,
And didn't keep him close beside
All for my very own—
And meanwhiles you was brooding on your throne.
And now—He wouldn't wait no more,
I've helped him go, I couldn't choose;
My one's another in the score
Of all you've grabbed; seems like I lose.
But don't you think you've done so well
Taking my lad that's got but one;
He'll fight for me, he'll fight like hell,
And, when you're down and done,
You'll curse the day you stole my only son.