“Where did you get it from?” he asked, surprised, for he had recognized his mother’s handwriting.
“It lay in the old chest of drawers which was saved from the fire, squeezed between the drawers and the back. It seems to have been lying there ever since her death.”
Then they sat down together on the grave, laid the book between them on their knees, and began to study it. Now he remembered that Katie, at the time when he surprised her with her lover, had spoken of a song-book which had belonged to their mother; but he had never made up his mind to ask after it, because he did not want to bring to life again the painful remembrance of that hour.
All sorts of old songs were in it, copied out neatly; near them others half scratched out and corrected. The latter she seemed to have reproduced from memory, or perhaps composed herself.
There was also the one about the poet which Katie had recited at the time.
And then came one, which was this:
“Dear child, sleep on; sleep on, dear child;
Beside thy bed thy mother mild
Watches till dreams shall bring thee peace—Sleep on!
“The little bell whose tones so clear
From out the wood resounded here
Its silver music soon will cease—
Sleep on!
“Dear child, sleep on; sleep on, dear child!
Without the moon shines soft and bright,
A legend tell the linden-trees—
Sleep on!
“About the heath the shepherd’s son,
The princess in the White House lone;
While leaves are flutt’ring in the breeze—
Sleep on!
“Dear child, sleep on; sleep on, dear child!
Thy rose-bush at the door dreams wild
Of heath and hill and many things—
Sleep on!
“Thy little bird upon the sill
Chirps gently towards thy bed his trill,
And closes wearily his wings—
Sleep on!
“Dear child, sleep on; sleep on, dear child!
Beside thy bed thy mother mild
Watches the hour-glass slowly turn—
Sleep on!
“Thy mother watches—time goes by—
The midnight hour approaches nigh,
And then thy father may return—
Sleep on!”
And then another poem:
I knew a sweet maiden in years that are gone,
Who on the green heath dwelt forsaken and lone.
And longed sore for love—
She looked from her window by day and by night
Her lovely blue eyes glanced out smiling and bright;
Ah! she longed sore for love!
Then by there came riding a bold youthful knight,
Who asked, ‘So strange on me gaze thine eyes bright?’
‘I long sore for love!’
Then he laughed, ‘Foolish maiden, wilt come to my arms,
There can’st thou rest sweetly, free from all harms,
And there find’st thou love.’
“‘Dear heart, dost thou know how forsaken I dwell?
Oh, take me, poor maiden, o’er moor and o’er fell,
But give, give me love!’
When of her company wearied at last,
He said, ‘Pretty rogue we’ve a pleasant time passed,
So hast thou had love!”
“‘And of my love art thou weary, dear heart?
So will I stay by thee, nor evermore part,
For I long for thy love.’
But heartily laughed the knight bold and gay;
He saddled his horse and he rode far away,
And left her in sorrow to love.
“And when the time had passed sadly away,
In sorrow her son saw the light of the day,
An offspring of love.
She carried him out in the night on the heath;
‘With a kiss, thou poor child, will I do thee to death—
I will kill thee with love.”
“‘Do to me, judge, what you will,’ then she cried.
‘Forsaken am I of the whole world so wide,
And left without love.’
She mounted the scaffold in bridal array,
And said ‘Take me hence, thou good God, I pray,
And I long sore for love!’”
Then his two sisters came to his mind, and he had a feeling as if his mother had known all and forgiven all beforehand.