Now when of comely mien the son came into the chamber, Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him, And, with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression, Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing.  Then with a smile he spoke, and said in words of affection:  “Truly a different being thou comest!  I never have seen thee Cheerful as now, nor ever beheld I thy glances so beaming.  Joyous thou comest, and happy:  ’tis plain that among the poor people Thou hast been sharing thy gifts, and receiving their blessings
                                                  upon thee.”

Quietly then, and with serious words, the son made him answer: 
“If I have acted as ye will commend, I know not; but I followed
That which my heart bade me do, as I shall exactly relate you. 
Thou wert, mother, so long in rummaging ’mong thy old pieces,
Picking and choosing, that not until late was thy bundle together;
Then, too, the wine and the beer took care and time in the packing. 
When I came forth through the gateway at last, and out on the high-road,
Backward the crowd of citizens streamed with women and children,
Coming to meet me; for far was already the band of the exiles. 
Quicker I kept on my way, and drove with speed to the village,
Where they were meaning to rest, as I heard, and tarry till morning. 
Thitherward up the new street as I hasted, a stout-timbered wagon,
Drawn by two oxen, I saw, of that region the largest and strongest;
While, with vigorous steps, a maiden was walking beside them,
And, a long staff in her hand, the two powerful creatures was guiding,
Urging them now, now holding them back; with skill did she drive them.

[Illustration:  HERMANN HANDS TO DOROTHEA THE LINEN FOR THE EMIGRANTS Ludwig Richter]

Soon as the maiden perceived me, she calmly drew near to the horses,
And in these words she addressed me:  ’Not thus deplorable always
Has our condition been, as to-day on this journey thou seest. 
I am not yet grown used to asking gifts of a stranger,
Which he will often unwillingly give, to be rid of the beggar. 
But necessity drives me to speak; for here, on the straw, lies
Newly delivered of child, a rich land-owner’s wife, whom I scarcely
Have in her pregnancy, safe brought off with the oxen and wagon. 
Naked, now in her arms the new-born infant is lying,
And but little the help our friends will be able to furnish,
If in the neighboring village, indeed, where to-day we would rest us,
Still we shall find them; though much do I fear they already have
                                                     passed it. 
Shouldst thou have linen to spare of any description, provided
Thou of this neighborhood art, to the poor in charity give it.’