And then her cheek! it was a red and white That made the delicate hues of art look loathsome, The countrymen who on their way to church Were leaning o’er the bridge, loitering to hear The bell’s last summons, and in idleness Watching the stream below, would all look up When she pass’d by. And her old Mother, Charles! When I have beard some erring infidel Speak of our faith as of a gloomy creed, Inspiring fear and boding wretchedness. Her figure has recurr’d; for she did love The sabbath-day, and many a time has cross’d These fields in rain and thro’ the winter snows. When I, a graceless boy, wishing myself By the fire-side, have wondered why _she_ came Who might have sate at home. One only care Hung on her aged spirit. For herself, Her path was plain before her, and the close Of her long journey near. But then her child Soon to be left alone in this bad world,— That was a thought that many a winter night Had kept her sleepless: and when prudent love In something better than a servant’s slate Had placed her well at last, it was a pang Like parting life to part with her dear girl. One summer, Charles, when at the holydays Return’d from school, I visited again My old accustomed walks, and found in them. A joy almost like meeting an old friend, I saw the cottage empty, and the weeds Already crowding the neglected flowers. Joanna by a villain’s wiles seduced Had played the wanton, and that blow had reach’d Her mother’s heart. She did not suffer long, Her age was feeble, and the heavy blow Brought her grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. I pass this ruin’d dwelling oftentimes And think of other days. It wakes in me A transient sadness, but the feelings Charles That ever with these recollections rise, I trust in God they will not pass away.