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'Twas morn; and the wind with an hoarse sullen moan Now seem'd dying away in the wood, When the poor wretched mother still drooping, alone, Beheld on the threshold a figure unknown, In gorgeous apparel who stood.

"Your son is a soldier," abruptly cried he, "And a place in our corps has obtain'd, "Nay, be not cast down; you perhaps may soon see "Your William a captain! he now sends by me   "The purse he already has gain'd."