No more must nurse upon the trembling knee,
}
The lost loved daughter's infant progeny:
140
Like death's dread mansion, this allows not place
For joyful meetings of a kindred race.
Is not the matron there, to whom the son
Was wont at each declining day to run;
He (when his toil was over) gave delight,
By lifting up the latch, and one "good night"?