I laugh no more.
See the stone bench beneath the chestnut shade,
Where mother sat, and watched us from afar.
How beautiful she was, and how we loved her!
And what warm rays beamed on us from her eyes!
I was the youngest; often, when my brothers
Climbed up and ran upon the heathy banks,
I, wearily dragging my flowers and holly boughs,
Would go and lean my head against her knees,
And hear the gentle accents of her voice,