_Mrs. Jillifer (aside)._ Bless you, that makes for nothing, nothing at all, They take no heed upon the words. His wife, Look you, as pleased as may be, smiles on him. _Mrs. T. (aside)._ Neighbours, there's one thing beats me. We've enough O' trouble in the world; I've cried my fill Many and many a time by my own fire: Now why, I'll ask you, should it comfort me And ease my heart when, pitiful and sweet, One sings of other souls and how they mourned? A body would have thought that did not know Songs must be merry, full of feast and mirth. Or else would all folk flee away from them. _Mrs. S. (aside)._ 'Tis strange, and I too love the sad ones best. _Mrs. T. (aside)._ Ay, how they clap him! 'Tis as who should say, Sing! we were pleased; sing us another song; As if they did not know he loves to sing. Well may he, not an organ pipe they blow On Sunday in the church is half so sweet; But he's a hard man. _Mrs. J. (aside)._ Mark me, neighbours all, Hard though he be--ay, and the mistress hard-- If he do sing 'twill be a sorrowful Sad tale of sweethearts, that shall make you wish Your own time would come over again, although Were partings in 't and tears. Hist! now he sings. _Young farmer sings again._ 'Come hither, come hither.' The broom was in blossom all over yon rise; There went a wide murmur of brown bees about it with songs from the wood. 'We shall never be younger! O love, let us forth, for the world 'neath our eyes, Ay, the world is made young e'en as we, and right fair is her youth and right good.' Then there fell the great yearning upon me, that never yet went into words; While lovesome and moansome thereon spake and falter'd the dove to the dove. And I came at her calling, 'Inherit, inherit, and sing with the birds;' I went up to the wood with the child of my heart and the wife of my love. O pure! O pathetic! Wild hyacinths drank it, the dream light, apace Not a leaf moved at all 'neath the blue, they hung waiting for messages kind; Tall cherry-trees dropped their white blossom that drifted no whit from its place, For the south very far out to sea had the lulling low voice of the wind. And the child's dancing foot gave us part in the ravishment almost a pain, An infinite tremor of life, a fond murmur that cried out on time, Ah short! must all end in the doing and spend itself sweetly in vain, And the promise be only fulfilment to lean from the height of its prime? 'We shall never be younger;' nay, mock me not, fancy, none call from yon tree; They have thrown me the world they went over, went up, and, alas! For my part I am left to grow old, and to grieve, and to change; but they change not with me; They will never be older, the child of my love, and the wife of my heart. _Mrs. J. I_ told you so! _Mrs. T. (aside)._ That did you, neighbour. Ay, Partings, said you, and tears: I liked the song.