To force a tear-drop from her sparkling eyes;
At eventide her sorrow seemèd most,
But in her God she never fail’d to trust:
Yes, eventide’s the time when Jane would sigh,
And sometimes—unavoidably—would cry,
As then the thoughts of home would oft recur,
For everything still there to her was dear,—
Ah! dear—and natural it should be so,—
Could she forget her birth-place? Oh! no, no:
Yet something, ’mid her sorrow, whisp’ring, said—