Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/132



He was not like the other boys, Who only cared for noisy plays; He used to throw away his toys, And lie there dreaming half his days. He was an idle lad, Who would not learn at school; But I can’t say that he was bad, Beyond the rule.

He was not strong enough to work, To do the drudgery of the farm; His father’s words they seemed to hurt, Though, heaven knows, he meant no harm. The boy would flush with pain, At every angry tone; I’ve often watched him through the lane Walk off alone.

A boy like that can never live, And thrive, in such a home as ours; I therefore thought ’tis best to give A boy like that to higher powers. Within the convent gate I led my wayward son, Right thankful was I, and elate When it was done.

The convent stood upon a hill; You could see far on either side; The brothers had some fields to till, And they had forests far and wide. They taught my son to serve, And also how to pray. I watched him often with the herd, Pass by that way.