Full soon, for happy years are short, they filled
The house with children; four were born to them. 
Then came a sickly season; fever spread
  Among the poor.  The curate, never slack
  In duty, praying by the sick, or worse,
Burying the dead, when all the air was clogged
With poisonous mist, was stricken; long he lay
Sick, almost to the death, and when his head
He lifted from the pillow, there was left
One only of that pretty flock:  his girls,
His three, were cold beneath the sod; his boy,
Their eldest born, remained.

The drooping wife
Bore her great sorrow in such quiet wise,
That first they marvelled at her, then they tried
To rouse her, showing her their bitter grief,
Lamenting, and not sparing; but she sighed,
“Let me alone, it will not be for long.” 
Then did her mother tremble, murmuring out,
“Dear child, the best of comfort will be soon. 
O, when you see this other little face,
You will, please God, be comforted.”

She said, “I shall not live to see it”; but she did,—­ little sickly face, a wan, thin face.  Then she grew eager, and her eyes were bright When she would plead with them:  “Take me away, Let me go south; it is the bitter blast That chills my tender babe; she cannot thrive Under the desolate, dull, mournful cloud.”  Then all they journeyed south together, mute With past and coming sorrow, till the sun, In gardens edging the blue tideless main, Warmed them and calmed the aching at their hearts, And all went better for a while; but not
For long.  They sitting by the orange-trees
Once rested, and the wife was very still: 
One woman with narcissus flowers heaped up
Let down her basket from her head, but paused
With pitying gesture, and drew near and stooped,
Taking a white wild face upon her breast,—­
The little babe on its poor mother’s knees,
None marking it, none knowing else, had died.

The fading mother could not stay behind,
Her heart was broken; but it awed them most
To feel they must not, dared not, pray for life,
Seeing she longed to go, and went so gladly.

After, these three, who loved each other well,
Brought their one child away, and they were best
Together in the wide old grange.  Full oft
The father with the mother talked of her,
Their daughter, but the husband nevermore;
He looked for solace in his work, and gave
His mind to teach his boy.  And time went on,
Until the grandsire prayed those other two
“Now part with him; it must be; for his good: 
He rules and knows it; choose for him a school,
Let him have all advantages, and all
Good training that should make a gentleman.”