Then with significance answer'd his good and sensible mother, Shedding tears in silence, which easily rose in her eyelids:-- "Son, what has wrought so strange a change in your temper and feelings, That you freely and openly speak to your mother no longer, As you till yesterday did, nor tell her truly your wishes? If another had heard you speaking, he doubtless would praise you Highly, and deem your new resolution as worthy of honour, Being deceived by your words, and by your manner of speaking. I however can only blame you. I know you much better. You are concealing your heart, and very diff'rent your thoughts are; For I am sure you care not at all for drum and for trumpet, Nor, to please the maidens, care you to wear regimentals. For, though brave you may be, and gallant, your proper vocation Is to remain at home, the property quietly watching. Therefore tell me truly: What means this sudden decision?" Earnestly answer'd the son:--"You are wrong, dear-mother, one day is Unlike another. The youth soon ripens into his manhood. Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than living That tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many. And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion'd Inside my bosom, which hates whatever unfair and unjust is, And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters. Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen'd. All that I tell you is true; I boldly venture to say so. And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you've caught me employing Words that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings. For I must need confess, it is not the advent of danger Calls me away from my father's house, nor a resolute purpose Useful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman. Words alone it was that I utter'd,--words only intended Those deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending. And now leave me, my mother! For as in my bosom I cherish Wishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose. For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, only Injures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish." "Now continue," replied forthwith his sensible mother:-- "Tell me all that has happen'd, the least as w'ell as the greatest Men are always hasty, and only remember the last thing, And the hasty are easily forced from the road by obstructions. But a woman is skillful, and full of resources, and scorns not Bye-roads to traverse when needed, well-skill'd to accomplish her purpose. Tell me then all, and why you are stirr'd by such violent feelings More than I ever have seen, while the blood is boiling within you, And from your eyes the tears against your will fain would fall now."