Then he abandoned himself, the poor boy, to his sorrow, and weeping,
Weeping aloud on his kind mother’s breast, he brokenly answered: 
“Truly my father’s words to-day have wounded me sorely,—­
Words which I have not deserved; not to-day, nor at any time have I: 
For it was early my greatest delight to honor my parents. 
No one knew more, so I deemed, or was wiser than those who begot me,
And had with strictness ruled throughout the dark season of childhood. 
Many the things, in truth, I with patience endured from my playmates,
When the good-will that I bore them they often requited with malice. 
Often I suffered their flings and their blows to pass unresented;
But if they ventured to ridicule father, when he of a Sunday
Home from Church would come, with his solemn and dignified bearing;
If they made fun of his cap-string, or laughed at the flowers of the wrapper
He with such stateliness wore, which was given away but this morning,—­
Threateningly doubled my fist in an instant; with furious passion
Fell I upon them, and struck out and hit, assailing them blindly,
Seeing not where.  They howled as the blood gushed out from their noses: 
Scarcely they made their escape from my passionate kicking and beating. 
Then, as I older grew, I had much to endure from my father;
Violent words he oft vented on me, instead of on others,
When, at the board’s last session, the council had roused his displeasure,
And I was made to atone for the quarrels and wiles of his colleagues. 
Thou has pitied me often thyself; for much did I suffer,
Ever remembering with cordial respect the kindness of parents,
Solely intent on increasing for us their goods and possessions,
Much denying themselves in order to save for their children. 
But, alas! saving alone, for the sake of a tardy enjoyment,—­
That is not happiness:  pile upon pile, and acre on acre,
Make us not happy, no matter how fair our estates may be rounded. 
For the father grows old, and with him will grow old the children,
Losing the joy of the day, and bearing the care of tomorrow. 
Look thou below, and see how before us in glory are lying,
Fair and abundant, the corn-fields; beneath them, the vineyard and garden;
Yonder the stables and barns; our beautiful line of possessions. 
But when I look at the dwelling behind, where up in the gable
We can distinguish the window that marks my room in the attic;
When I look back, and remember how many a night from that window
I for the moon have watched; for the sun, how many a morning! 
When the healthful sleep of a few short hours sufficed me,—­
Ah, so lonely they seem to me then, the chamber and courtyard,
Garden and glorious field, away o’er the hill that is stretching;
All so desert before me lie:  ’tis the wife that is wanting.”