XCI.

I sought my home again; and thou, my child, There at thy play beneath yon ancient pine, With eyes, whose lightning laughter[297] hath beguiled A thousand pangs, thence flashing joy to mine; Thou in thy mother’s arms, a babe, didst meet My coming with young smiles, which yet, though sweet, Seem’d on my soul all mournfully to shine, And ask a happier heritage for thee, Than but in turn the blight of human hope to see.