Back from the war came Jean Renaud— His face was dark with a secret woe! "Good-day, my Mother;" "Good-day, my Son, "Thy wife hath borne thee a little one." "Go in, my Mother, go in," he said, "Bid them prepare me a fair white bed; "And let them silently serve my need, "So that my wife may pay no heed." When midnight's hour was drawing nigh, Jean Renaud breathed his latest sigh! "Prythee, tell me, my Mother dear, "What is the wailing that now I hear?" "It is the bairns in the room beneath; "They cry because of their aching teeth." "But prythee, tell me, my Mother dear, "What knocking and nailing now I hear?" "It is the carpenter—nothing more— "Busily mending a plank i' the floor." "But prythee, tell me, my Mother dear, "What is the singing that now I hear?" "'Tis some procession, my child, I wot, "That chants while passing around our cot." "But prythee, tell me, my Mother dear, "Why from thine eyelid there drops a tear?" "Alas! the truth I no more can hide,— "Jean Renaud in this house hath died." "My Mother, haste to the sexton old— "Let him dig a grave for two i' the mould, "And let the pit be wide and deep, "My baby also therein shall sleep!" |