Earnestly answer’d the son:—­“You are wrong, dear-mother, one day is
Unlike another.  The youth soon ripens into his manhood. 
Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than living
That tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many. 
And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion’d
Inside my bosom, which hates whatever unfair and unjust is,
And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters. 
Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen’d. 
All that I tell you is true; I boldly venture to say so. 
And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you’ve caught me employing
Words that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings. 
For I must need confess, it is not the advent of danger
Calls me away from my father’s house, nor a resolute purpose
Useful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman. 
Words alone it was that I utter’d,—­words only intended
Those deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending. 
And now leave me, my mother!  For as in my bosom I cherish
Wishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose. 
For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, only
Injures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish.”

“Now continue,” replied forthwith his sensible mother:—­
“Tell me all that has happen’d, the least as w’ell as the greatest
Men are always hasty, and only remember the last thing,
And the hasty are easily forced from the road by obstructions. 
But a woman is skillful, and full of resources, and scorns not
Bye-roads to traverse when needed, well-skill’d to accomplish her purpose. 
Tell me then all, and why you are stirr’d by such violent feelings
More than I ever have seen, while the blood is boiling within you,
And from your eyes the tears against your will fain would fall now.”

Then the youth gave way to his sorrow, and burst into weeping,
Weeping aloud on the breast of his mother, and softly replying
“Truly, my father’s words to-day have wounded me sadly,
Never have I deserved at his hands such treatment,—­no, never! 
For to honour my parents was always my wish from my childhood,
No one ever appear’d so prudent and wise as my parents,
Who in the darker days of childhood carefully watch’d me. 
Much indeed it has been my lot to endure from my playmates,
When with their knavish pranks they used to embitter my temper. 
Often I little suspected the tricks they were playing upon me: 
But if they happen’d to ridicule Father, whenever on Sundays
Out of church he came with his slow deliberate footsteps,
If they laugh’d at the strings of his cap, and his dressing-gown’s flowers,
Which he in stately wise wore, and to-day at length has discarded,
Then in a fury I clench’d my fist, and, storming and raging,
Fell upon them and hit and struck with terrible onslaught,