And still she look’d as in the times of old,
Ere his last farm the erring husband sold;
While yet the mansion stood in decent state,
And paupers waited at the well-known gate. 
“Alas, my son!” the Mother cried, “and why
That silent grief and oft-repeated sigh? 
True we are poor, but thou hast never felt
Pangs to thy father for his error dealt;
Pangs from strong hopes of visionary gain,
For ever raised, and ever found in vain. 
He rose unhappy from his fruitless schemes,
As guilty wretches from their blissful dreams;
But thou wert then, my son, a playful child,
Wondering at grief, gay, innocent, and wild;
Listening at times to thy poor mother’s sighs
With curious looks and innocent surprise;
Thy father dying, thou my virtuous boy,
My comfort always, waked my soul to joy;
With the poor remnant of our fortune left,
Thou hast our station of its gloom bereft: 
Thy lively temper, and thy cheerful air,
Have cast a smile on sadness and despair;
Thy active hand has dealt to this poor space
The bliss of plenty and the charm of grace;
And all around us wonder when they find
Such taste and strength, such skill and power combined;
There is no mother, Colin, no not one,
But envies me so kind, so good a son;
By thee supported on this failing side,
Weakness itself awakes a parent’s pride: 
I bless the stroke that was my grief before,
And feel such joy that ’tis disease no more;
Shielded by thee, my want becomes my wealth,
And, soothed by Colin, sickness smiles at health;
The old men love thee, they repeat thy praise,
And say, like thee were youth in earlier days;
While every village-maiden cries, ’How gay,
How smart, how brave, how good is Colin Grey!’
   “Yet art thou sad; alas! my son, I know
Thy heart is wounded, and the cure is slow;
Fain would I think that Jesse still may come
To share the comforts of our rustic home: 
She surely loved thee; I have seen the maid,
When thou hast kindly brought the Vicar aid —
When thou hast eased his bosom of its pain,
Oh!  I have seen her—­she will come again.” 
   The Matron ceased; and Colin stood the while
Silent, but striving for a grateful smile;
He then replied—­“Ah! sure, had Jesse stay’d,
And shared the comforts of our sylvan shade,
The tenderest duty and the fondest love
Would not have fail’d that generous heart to move;
A grateful pity would have ruled her breast,
And my distresses would have made me bless’d. 
   “But she is gone, and ever has in view
Grandeur and taste,—­and what will then ensue? 
Surprise and then delight in scenes so fair and new;
For many a day, perhaps for many a week,
Home will have charms, and to her bosom speak;
But thoughtless ease, and affluence, and pride,
Seen day by day, will draw the heart aside: 
And she at length, though gentle and sincere,