And a sore temper: day by day he drooped,
And he would leave his work—and to the town
Would turn without an errand his slack steps;[69]
Or wander here and there among the fields.
One while he would speak lightly of his babes,
And with a cruel tongue; at other times
He tossed them with a false unnatural joy:
And 'twas a rueful thing to see the looks
Of the poor innocent children. 'Every smile,'
Said Margaret to me, here beneath these trees,