The mother's will was law, (alas for her That hapless day, poor soul!) _She_ could not err, Thought Ambrose; and his little fair-hair'd Jane (Her namesake) to his heart he hugg'd again, When each had had her turn; she clinging so As if that day she could not let him go. But Labour's sons must snatch a hasty bliss In nature's tend'rest mood. One last fond kiss, "God bless my little maids!" the father said, And cheerly went his way to win their bread. Then might be seen, the playmate parent gone, What looks demure the sister pair put on-- Not of the mother as afraid, or shy, Or questioning the love that could deny; But simply, as their simple training taught, In quiet, plain straightforwardness of thought, (Submissively resign'd the hope of play,) Towards the serious business of the day. To me there's something touching, I confess, In the grave look of early thoughtfulness, Seen often in some little childish face Among the poor. Not that wherein we trace (Shame to our land, our rulers, and our race!) The unnatural sufferings of the factory child, But a staid quietness, reflective, mild, Betokening, in the depths of those young eyes, Sense of life's cares, without its miseries. So to the mother's charge, with thoughtful brow, The docile Lizzy stood attentive now; Proud of her years and of imputed sense, And prudence justifying confidence-- And little Jenny, more _demurely_ still, Beside her waited the maternal will. So standing hand in hand, a lovelier twain Gainsb'rough ne'er painted: no--nor he of Spain, Glorious Murillo!--and by contrast shown More beautiful. The younger little one, With large blue eyes, and silken ringlets fair, By nut-brown Lizzy, with smooth parted hair, Sable and glossy as the raven's wing, And lustrous eyes as dark. "Now, mind and bring Jenny safe home," the mother said--"don't stay To pull a bough or berry by the way: And when you come to cross the ford, hold fast Your little sister's hand, till you're quite past-- That plank's so crazy, and so slippery (If not o'erflowed) the stepping-stones will be. But you're good children--steady as old folk, I'd trust ye any where." Then Lizzy's cloak, A good grey duffle, lovingly she tied, And amply little Jenny's lack supplied With her own warmest shawl. "Be sure," said she, "To wrap it round and knot it carefully (Like this) when you come home; just leaving free One hand to hold by. Now, make haste away-- Good will to school, and then good right to play."