Methinks I see thee smiling there,
With beaming eyes, and sunny hair,
As thou were wont, when fondling me,
To clasp my neck from off my knee!
Was it thy voice? Again, oh speak,
My boy, or else my heart will break!"
Each adding to that father's woes,
A thousand bygone scenes arose;
At home—a field—each with its joy,
Each with its smile—and all his boy!