And roused his mother’s pride;
Who came to us in high disdain,—
‘And where’s the face,’ she cried,
“‘Has witched my boy to wish for one
So wretched for his wife?—
Dost love thy husband? Know, my son
Has sworn to seek his life.’
“Her anger sore dismayed us,
For our mite was wearing scant,
And unless that dame would aid us,