“For who will give us bread to eat? The neighbors are so poor! And he, our kinsman in the town, Would drive us from his door. “For he is rich and pitiless, With heart as cold as stone! Who will be parents to us now That ours are dead and gone?” “Weep not,” said faithful Marien, “Man’s heart is not so hard, But it your friendless misery Will tenderly regard! “And I with you will still abide, Your friendless souls to cheer, Be father and mother both to you; For this God sent me here. “And to your kinsman in the town, Who hath such store of gold, I will convey you: God can change His spirit stern and cold. “And ye, like angels of sweet love, From earth his soul may win. Fear not; and we with morning light The journey will begin.” They took their little worldly store; And at the break of day, Leaving the lonesome sea-side shed, Set out upon their way. ’Mong sandy hills their way they wound; O’er sea-grass dusk and harsh; By many a land-mark lone and still; Through many a salt-sea marsh. And thus for twice seven days they went A little roving band, Walking along their weary way; Like angels, hand in hand. And everywhere kind Christian folks They found, as Marien said, Who gave them lodging for the night, And gave them daily bread. And thus they pilgrimed, day by day, Alone yet not cast down, Strengthened by Marien’s company, Unto the sea-port town. A busy town beside the sea, Where men were all a stir, Buying and selling; eager-eyed, Two different races, yet allied,-- Merchant and mariner. A place of ships, whose name was known Far oft, beyond the main; A busy place of trade, where nought Was in repute but gain. Thither they came, those children poor, About the eventide, And where dwelt he, their kinsman rich, They asked on every side. After long asking, one they found, An old man and a poor, Who undertook to lead them straight Unto the kinsman’s door. But ever as he went along He to himself did say, Low broken sentences, as thus, “Their kinsman!--well-a-way!” All through a lybrinth of walls Blackened with cloudy smoke, He led them, where was heard the forge And the strong hammer’s stroke. And beneath lofty windows dim In many a doleful row, Whence came the jangle of quicklooms, Down to the courts below. Still on the children, terrified, With wildered spirits passed; Until of these great mammon halls, They reached the heart at last,-- A little chamber hot and dim, With iron bars made fast. There sate the kinsman, shrunk and lean, And leaden-eyed and old, Busied before a lighted lamp In sealing bags of gold.