Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/89

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AYLMER’S FIELD.
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He, passionately hopefuller, would go,Labour for his own Edith, and returnIn such a sunlight of prosperityHe should not be rejected. 'Write to me!They loved me, and because I love their childThey hate me: there is war between us, dear,Which breaks all bonds but ours; we must remainSacred to one another.' So they talk'd,Poor children, for their comfort: the wind blew;The rain of heaven, and their own bitter tears,Tears, and the careless rain of heaven, mixtUpon their faces, as they kiss'd each otherIn darkness, and above them roar'd the pine.
 So Leolin went; and as we task ourselvesTo learn a language known but smatteringlyIn phrases here and there at random, toil'dMastering the lawless science of our law,That codeless myriad of precedent,That wilderness of single instances,
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