“But,” said the smiling Friend, “he fill’d my mouth with bread:
And in what other place that bread to gain
We long consider’d, and we sought in vain:
This was my twentieth year, - at thirty-five
Our hope was fainter, yet our love alive;
So many years in anxious doubt had pass’d.”
“Then,” said the Damsel, “you were bless’d at last?”
A smile again adorn’d the Widow’s face,
But soon a starting tear usurp’d its place.
“Slow pass’d the heavy years, and each had more