Years passed on, my brothers left me,
Each went out to take his share
In the struggle of life; my portion
Was a humble one—­to bear. 
Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander
Through the woods and fields alone,
Every cottage in the village
Had a corner called my own.

Old and young, all brought their troubles,
Great or small, for me to hear;
I have often blessed my sorrow
That drew others’ grief so near. 
Ah, the people needed helping—­
Needed love—­(for Love and Heaven
Are the only gifts not bartered,
They alone are freely given)—­

And I gave it.  Philip’s bounty,
(We were orphans, dear,) made toil
Prosper, and want never fastened
On the tenants of the soil. 
Philip’s name (Oh, how I gloried,
He so young, to see it rise!)
Soon grew noted among statesmen
As a patriot true and wise.

And his people all felt honoured
To be ruled by such a name;
I was proud too that they loved me;
Through their pride in him it came. 
He had gained what I had longed for,
I meanwhile grew glad and gay,
’Mid his people, to be serving
Him and them, in some poor way.

How his noble earnest speeches,
With untiring fervour came;
Helper of the poor and suffering;
Truly he deserved the name! 
Had my Angel’s promise failed me? 
Had that word of hope grown dim? 
Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,
And I loved it best in him!

Max meanwhile—­ah, you, my darling,
Can his loving words recall—­
’Mid the bravest and the noblest,
Braver, nobler, than them all. 
How I loved him! how my heart thrilled
When his sword clanked by his side. 
When I touched his gold embroidery,
Almost saw him in his pride!

So we parted; he all eager
To uphold the name he bore,
Leaving in my charge—­he loved me—­
Some one whom he loved still more: 
I must tend this gentle flower,
I must speak to her of him,
For he feared—­Love still is fearful—­
That his memory might grow dim.

I must guard her from all sorrow,
I must play a brother’s part,
Shield all grief and trial from her,
If it need be, with my heart. 
Years passed, and his name grew famous;
We were proud, both she and I;
And we lived upon his letters,
While the slow days fleeted by.

Then at last—­you know the story,
How a fearful rumour spread,
Till all hope had slowly faded,
And we heard that he was dead. 
Dead!  Oh, those were bitter hours;
Yet within my soul there dwelt
A warning, and while others mourned him,
Something like a hope I felt.

His was no weak life as mine was,
But a life, so full and strong—­
No, I could not think he perished
Nameless, ’mid a conquered throng. 
How she drooped!  Years passed; no tidings
Came, and yet that little flame
Of strange hope within my spirit
Still burnt on, and lived the same.