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Well then, kiss me,—since my mother left her blessing on my brow,

There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;

I can dimly comprehend it,—that I might have been more kind,

Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I "have never failed in kindness"? No, we lived too high for strife,—

Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;

But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still

To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,

To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;

And remember, "Patience, Patience," is the watchword of a sage,

Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.