A long fond kiss upon our babe he prest,
Still in her cradle slumbering serene;
The tide of love gushed warmer in my breast,
His glance recalled the hours when first that love was blest.
Thrice the accumulating mound of sand
Marked in my glass the hours that passed away,
I turned it listlessly with weary hand,
And marvelled at Montoro’s long delay:
Heavy with mist and rain advanced the day;
My babe awoke and wept, her cry of fear