And parted thus they rest who play’d
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they pray’d
Around one parent knee!
They that with smiles lit up the hall
And cheer’d with mirth the hearth;
Alas, for love! if thou wert all,
And naught beyond, O Earth!
—Felicia Dorothea Hemans.
THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER
One evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his wife Baucis sat at their cottage door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They talked together about their garden, and their cow, and their bees, and their grape vine on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple.
The shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs in the village near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was hardly possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak.
“Ah, wife,” cried Philemon, “I fear some poor traveller is seeking food and lodging in the village yonder, and our neighbors have set their dogs at him, as their custom is.”
“Welladay!” answered Baucis, “I do wish our neighbors felt a little more kindness for their fellow-creatures.”
“I never heard the dogs so loud!” observed the good old man.
“Nor the children so rude!” answered his good old wife.
