Ere long, from heaps of turf, before their sight, 460
  Together smoking in the sun’s slant beam,
  Rise various wreaths that into one unite
  Which high and higher mounts with silver gleam: 
  Fair spectacle,—­but instantly a scream
  Thence bursting shrill did all remark prevent; 465
  They paused, and heard a hoarser voice blaspheme,
  And female cries.  Their course they thither bent,
  And met a man who foamed with anger vehement.

LIII

  A woman stood with quivering lips and pale,
  And, pointing to a little child that lay 470
  Stretched on the ground, began a piteous tale;
  How in a simple freak of thoughtless play
  He had provoked his father, who straightway,
  As if each blow were deadlier than the last,
  Struck the poor innocent.  Pallid with dismay 475
  The Soldier’s Widow heard and stood aghast;
  And stern looks on the man her grey-haired Comrade cast.

LIV

  His voice with indignation rising high
  Such further deed in manhood’s name forbade;
  The peasant, wild in passion, made reply 480
  With bitter insult and revilings sad;
  Asked him in scorn what business there he had;
  What kind of plunder he was hunting now;
  The gallows would one day of him be glad;—­
  Though inward anguish damped the Sailor’s brow, 485
  Yet calm he seemed as thoughts so poignant would allow.

LV

  Softly he stroked the child, who lay outstretched
  With face to earth; and, as the boy turned round
  His battered head, a groan the Sailor fetched
  As if he saw—­there and upon that ground—­ 490
  Strange repetition of the deadly wound
  He had himself inflicted.  Through his brain
  At once the griding iron passage found; [D]
  Deluge of tender thoughts then rushed amain,
  Nor could his sunken eyes the starting tear restrain. 495

LVI

  Within himself he said—­What hearts have we! 
  The blessing this a father gives his child! 
  Yet happy thou, poor boy! compared with me,
  Suffering not doing ill—­fate far more mild. 
  The stranger’s looks and tears of wrath beguiled 500
  The father, and relenting thoughts awoke;
  He kissed his son—­so all was reconciled. 
  Then, with a voice which inward trouble broke
  Ere to his lips it came, the Sailor them bespoke.

LVII