As I strove to make them understand,
They must greet their father’s new-made bride.
Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern,
And his lady’s eyes might well grow dim,
When the children shrank in fear away,—
Little Arthur hid his face, and May
Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him.
When Sir Arthur bade them greet “their mother,”
I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear
How my little loving May replied,