I seem to be tired a little, that’s all, and long for rest;
Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.
So Willy has gone,—my beauty, my eldest born, my flower;
But how can I weep for Willy? he has but gone for an hour,—
Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into the next;
I too shall go in a minute. What time have I to be vext?
THE ANCIENT MAN.
TRANSLATED BY L. O. FROM THE GERMAN OF JEAN PAUL RICHTER’S MEMOIR OF FIBEL, AUTHOR OF THE BIENENRODA SPELLING-BOOK.
“He is insensibly subdued