"Yes, you are," cried Bell. "Poor mamma! dear mamma!"
The children all clustered round their mother, caressing her, and murmuring affectionate words. Mrs. Merryweather smiled in a happy, helpless way.
"I am a sad goose, good neighbours," she said; "but they always bring me out right, somehow. There now, darlings, sit down, and be good. And, by the way, Gertrude, I am minded to heap a coal of fire on your head. Didn't you tell me this morning that Titus Labienus was always on a hill, or something like that?"
"Yes," said Gertrude. "So he is, and ever will remain so. Have you taken him down, dear mamma?"
"Not exactly!" said her mother. "But I have made a ballad about him, and I thought it might possibly amuse you all."
An eager shout arose, and all the young people gathered in a circle round the good lady's chair, while she read:—
"THE BALLAD OF TITUS LABIENUS."
Now Titus Labienus
Was stationed on a hill;
He sacrificed to Janus,
Then stood up stark and still'
He stood and gazed before him,
The best part of a week;
Then, as if anguish tore him,
Did Labienus speak:
"Oh, hearken, mighty Caesar I
Oh, Caius Julius C.,
It really seems to me, sir,
Things aren't as they should be.
I've looked into the future,
I've gazed beyond the years,
And as I'm not a butcher,
My heart is wrung to tears.
"All Gaul it is divided
In parts one, two and three,
And bravely you and I did,
In Britain o'er the sea.
In savage wilds the Teuton
Has felt your hand of steel,
Proud Rome you've set your boot on,
And ground it 'neath your heel.