mother
Every anxious thought, and fear that aught ill had befallen. 
Still did she constantly hope that, if further she went, she should
          
                                               find him;
For the two doors of the vineyard, the lower as well as the upper,
Both were alike standing open.  So now she entered the corn-field,
That with its broad expanse the ridge of the hill covered over. 
Still was the ground that she walked on her own; and the crops she
                                                  rejoiced in,—­
All of them still were hers, and hers was the proud-waving grain, too,
Over the whole broad field in golden strength that was stirring. 
Keeping the ridgeway, the footpath, between the fields she went onward,
Having the lofty pear-tree in view, which stood on the summit,
And was the boundary-mark of the fields that belonged to her dwelling. 
Who might have planted it, none could know, but visible was it
Far and wide through the country; the fruit of the pear-tree was famous. 
’Neath it the reapers were wont to enjoy their meal at the noon-day,
And the shepherds were used to tend their flocks in its shadow. 
Benches of unhewn stones and of turf they found set about it. 
And she had not been mistaken, for there sat her Hermann, and rested,—­
Sat with his head on his hand, and seemed to be viewing the landscape
That to the mountains lay:  his back was turned to his mother. 
Toward him softly she crept, and lightly touched on the shoulder;
Quick he turned himself round; there were tears in his eyes as he met her.

“Mother, how hast thou surprised me!” he said in confusion; and quickly
Wiped the high-spirited youth his tears away.  But the mother,
“What! do I find thee weeping, my son?” exclaimed in amazement. 
“Nay, that is not like thyself:  I never before have so seen thee! 
Tell me, what burdens thy heart? what drives thee here, to be sitting
Under the pear-tree alone?  These tears in thine eyes, what has
                                              brought them?”

Then, collecting himself, the excellent youth made her answer: 
“Truly no heart can that man have in his bosom of iron,
Who is insensible now to the needs of this emigrant people;
He has no brains in his head, who not for his personal safety,
Not for his fatherland’s weal, in days like the present is anxious. 
Deeply my heart had been touched by the sights and sounds of the morning;
Then I went forth and beheld the broad and glorious landscape
Spreading its fertile slopes in every direction about us,
Saw the golden grain inclining itself to the reapers,
And the promise of well-filled barns from the plentiful harvest.

[Illustration:  MOTHER AND SON Ludwig Richter]