Was that—“my son!” I had a boy, who might
Have worn as free a soul upon his brow
As doth this youth. Why should the thought of him
Thus haunt me? When I tread the peopled ways
Of life again, I shall be pass’d each hour
By fathers with their children, and I must
Learn calmly to look on. Methinks ’twere now
A gloomy consolation to behold
All men bereft as I am! But away,
Vain thoughts!—One task is left for blighted hearts,