248
MARY.
For then we were too happy to be gay;
I never knew what care or grieving was
'Till I knew William; but I never knew
Until I knew him, that there is a joy
Worth all we pay for it: yes! none so gay,
So goes the saying, as the merry beggars
With nought to care or fret for, nought to lose;
But wealth brings care with it, and when the heart
Grows rich, it watches anxious o'er its treasure
With busy fears it never knew before;
And we were grave and anxious, ofttimes silent
Perchance, but never happier than then;
And when the walk was over, and we parted,
Still William leant across our garden gate,
Still there seemed always something left to say,
Still some last word yet sweeter than the last
That went before it;—I should ask your pardon
For wearying you with talk of these old times,
But if I thus forget you are a stranger,
Yours is the blame that make me to forget it,
As there you sit and look so like a friend—
Trav. I think your heart would entertain the stranger
Where'er it met him, but it seems to me,
The farther we have left our home behind us,
The nearer do we feel to those that hold
With us some link, though slight, in common there,
As claims of distant kindred rise in value
When closer ties have failed us,—meeting here,
Both born in Yorkshire, we are friends at once,
I never knew what care or grieving was
'Till I knew William; but I never knew
Until I knew him, that there is a joy
Worth all we pay for it: yes! none so gay,
So goes the saying, as the merry beggars
With nought to care or fret for, nought to lose;
But wealth brings care with it, and when the heart
Grows rich, it watches anxious o'er its treasure
With busy fears it never knew before;
And we were grave and anxious, ofttimes silent
Perchance, but never happier than then;
And when the walk was over, and we parted,
Still William leant across our garden gate,
Still there seemed always something left to say,
Still some last word yet sweeter than the last
That went before it;—I should ask your pardon
For wearying you with talk of these old times,
But if I thus forget you are a stranger,
Yours is the blame that make me to forget it,
As there you sit and look so like a friend—
Trav. I think your heart would entertain the stranger
Where'er it met him, but it seems to me,
The farther we have left our home behind us,
The nearer do we feel to those that hold
With us some link, though slight, in common there,
As claims of distant kindred rise in value
When closer ties have failed us,—meeting here,
Both born in Yorkshire, we are friends at once,
