The boy would warble, as the father play’d,
A drowsy song, then silent sink to sleep.
What visions must have visited his couch,
Thus woo’d to peaceful slumbers! On the chair
She stands, and reaches it from its high place,
And covers it with kisses!—Still no tears.
Who comes into that room with stealthy tread?—
That room so sacred to the mourner, who?
It is a good old lady, come to see
What means the stillness in that mournful room.