At times he moaned: “My daughter will do right.”
XLV.
Then slowly dawn’d on Haydn’s mind the fact,
Though not, as yet, the reason of my vow.
And all the household grew so mild with me,
And all the neighbors gazed so piteously:
If they had clothed my body in a shroud,
And I had loiter’d round it there, a ghost,
Life scarce had seem’d more lonely or more chill.
But yet more sad than all it seem’d for me