As if to comfort him.
My pity cannot help him, though his plaint
Brings tears of wistfulness;
Still must he grieve and mourn, forlorn and faint,
None may his wrong redress.
Oh, bright-eyed boy! was there no better way
A moment’s joy to gain
Than to make sorrow that must mar the day
With such despairing pain?
Oh, children! drop the gun, the cruel stone!