Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/218

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But only once that drop of comfort cameTo mingle with her cup of wretchedness;And when his parents had some tidings from him,There was no mention of poor Hannah there,Or 'twas the cold enquiry, bittererThan silence. So she pined and pined awayAnd for herself and baby toil'd and toil'd,Nor did she, even on her death bed, restFrom labour, knitting with her outstretch'd armsTill she sunk with very weakness. Her old motherOmitted no kind office, and she work'dHard, and with hardest working barely earn'dEnough to make life struggle and prolongThe pains of grief and sickness. Thus she layOn the sick bed of poverty, so wornWith her long suffering and that painful thoughtThat at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,That she could make no effort to expressAffection for her infant; and the child,Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her
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