Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/52

16, 1830.]

Willy, my eldest born, is gone, you say, little Anne?

Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.

And Willy’s wife has written: she never was overwise,

Never the wife for Willy: he wouldn’t take my advice.

For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save,

Hadn’t a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave.

Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one.

Eh!—but he wouldn’t hear me—and Willy, you say, is gone.

Willy, my beauty, my eldest boy, the flower of the flock,

Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock.

“Here’s a leg for a babe of a week!” says doctor; and he would be bound,

There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round.

Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue!

I ought to have gone before him: I wonder he went so young.

I cannot cry for him, Annie: I have not long to stay;

Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away.

Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold;

But all my children have gone before me, I am so old:

I cannot weep for Wi11y, nor can I weep for the rest;

Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.