XVIII.
It might be that, amidst the countless throng,
There swell’d some heart with pity’s weight oppress’d:
For the wide stream of human love is strong;
And woman, on whose fond and faithful breast
Childhood is rear’d, and at whose knee the sigh
Of its first prayer is breathed—she, too, was nigh.
But life is dear, and the free footstep bless’d,
And home a sunny place, where each may fill
Some eye with glistening smiles,—and therefore all were still.