Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/78

 Whilst round thy homely bench

Thy well-belovèd played,

In yonder hall beneath a pall

A little one was laid;

Thy well-belovèd's face

Was rosy with delight,

But 'neath that pall in yonder hall

The little face is white;

Whilst by a merry voice

Thy soul is filled with cheer,

Another weeps for one that sleeps

All mute and cold anear;

One father hath his hope,

And one is childless now;

He wears a crown and rules a town

Only a cobbler thou!

Wouldst thou exchange thy lot

At price of such a woe?

I'll nest no more above thy door,

But, as thou bidst me, go.

Nay, stork! thou shalt remain—

I mean not what I said;

Good neighbors we must always be,

So make thy home o'erhead.

I would not change my bench

For any monarch's throne,