Her brother now takes up the note, 25
And echoes back his sister's glee;
They hug the infant in my arms,
As if to force his sympathy.
Then, settling into fond discourse,
We rested in the garden bower; 30
While sweetly shone the evening sun
In his departing hour.
We told o'er all that we had done,—
Our rambles by the swift brook's side
Far as the willow-skirted pool, 35
Where two fair swans together glide.
We talked of change, of winter gone,
Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray,
Of birds that build their nests and sing,
And all "since Mother went away!" 40
To her these tales they will repeat,
To her our new-born tribes will show,
The goslings green, the ass's colt,
The lambs that in the meadow go.
—But, see, the evening star comes forth! 45
To bed the children must depart;
A moment's heaviness they feel,
A sadness at the heart:
'Tis gone—and in a merry fit
They run up stairs in gamesome race; 50
I, too, infected by their mood,
I could have joined the wanton chase.
Five minutes past—and, O the change!
Asleep upon their beds they lie;
Their busy limbs in perfect rest, 55
And closed the sparkling eye.
The Fenwick note is inaccurate. These lines were written by Dorothy Wordsworth at Coleorton, on the eve of her brother and sister's return from London, in the spring of 1807, whither they had gone for a month—Dorothy remaining at Coleorton, in charge of the children. Previous to 1845, the poem was attributed to "a female Friend of the Author."—Ed.