XVIII.

It might be that, amidst the countless throng, There swell’d some heart with pity’s weight oppress’d: For the wide stream of human love is strong; And woman, on whose fond and faithful breast Childhood is rear’d, and at whose knee the sigh Of its first prayer is breathed--she, too, was nigh. But life is dear, and the free footstep bless’d, And home a sunny place, where each may fill Some eye with glistening smiles,--and therefore all were still.