“Thou shalt be comfort to mine age, And here within this wood, ’Mongst faithful, gentle things, shalt thou Grow up to womanhood! There dwelt the lovely Marien; Within the forest wild, And she unto the lone old man Was dearer than a child. There dwelt the lovely Marien, Yet not long dwelt she there;-- The old man died;--and then came forth A kinsman for the heir. A lean and rugged man of pelf, In wickedness grown old; From some vile city-den he came And seized upon the gold;-- He slew the tamed forest-beasts,-- The forest-grange he sold. And with hard speeches, coarse and rude, Away the child he sent; Meek Marien answered not a word, But through the forest went. PART III. Through the wild wood went Marien, For many a weary day: Her food the forest-fruits, and on The forest-turf she lay. The wildern wood was skirted By moorlands dry and brown; And after them came Marien Into a little town. At entrance of the little town A cross stood by the way, A rude stone cross, and there she knelt A little prayer to say. Then on the stone-steps sate her down; And soon beside her crept, A pale child with a clasped book, And all the while he wept. “Why weep you, child,” asked Marien, “What troubleth you so sore?” At these words spoken tenderly, The child wept more and more. “I have not heard,” at length he said, “Kinds words this many a year, My mother is dead--and my father Is a hard man and severe. “I sit in corners of the house Where none can see me weep; And in the quiet of the day ’Tis here I often creep. “The kid leaps by his mother’s side, The singing birds are glad: But when I play me in the sun, My heart is ever sad. “They say this blessed book can heal All trouble, and therefore All day I keep it in my sight; I lay it ’neath my head at night, But it doth bring no cure to me:-- I know not what the cause may be, For I of learning have no store!” Thereat, like to a broken flower The child drooped down his head; Then Marien took the clasped book And of the Saviour read. She read of him the humble child Of poverty and scorn; How holy angels sang for him The night that he was born. How blessed angels came from heaven To hail the Christmas night, And shepherd people with their flocks Beheld the glorious sight. Then read she how, a growing youth, His parents he obeyed, And served with unrepining will St. Joseph at his trade. Then how he grew to man’s estate And wandered up and down, Preaching upon the lone sea-side, And in the busy town.