Then too Favinia with maternal pride
Would turn her eyes exulting to her Lord,
And in that silent language bid him mark
His spirit in his boy; all danger then
Was distant, and if secret forethought faint
Of manhood’s perils, and the chance of war,
Hateful to mothers, pass’d across her mind,
The ill remote gave to the present hour
A heighten’d feeling of secure delight.
No season this for old solemnities,