at apart from the assembled throng
There sat a swarthy giant, with a face
So nobly grand that though (unlike the rest)
He wore no festal garb nor laughing mien,
Yet was he study for the painter's art:
He joined not in their sports, but rather seemed
To please his eye with sight of others' joy.
There was a cast of sorrow on his brow,
As though it had been early there.
He sat In listless attitude, yet not devoid
Of gentlest grace, as down his stalwart form
He bent, to catch the playful whisperings,
And note the movements of a bright-hair'd child
Who danced before him in the evening sun,
Holding a tiny brother by the hand.

He was the village smith (the rolled-up sleeves
And the well-charred leathern apron show'd his craft);
Karl was his name--a man beloved by all.
He was not of the district. He had come
Amongst them ere his forehead bore one trace
Of age or suffering. A wife and child
He had brought with him; but the wife was dead.
Not so the child--who danced before him now
And held a tiny brother by the hand--
Their mother's last and priceless legacy!
So Karl was happy still that those two lived,
And laughed and danced before him in the sun.

Yet sadly so. The children both were fair,
Ruddy, and active, though of fragile form;
But to that father's ever watchful eye,
Who had so loved their mother, it was plain
That each inherited the wasting doom
Which cost that mother's life. 'Twas reason more
To work and toil for them by night and day!
Early and late his anvil's ringing sound
Was heard amidst all seasons. Oftentimes
The neighbours asked him why he worked so hard
With only two to care for? He would smile,
Wipe his hot brow, and say, "'Twas done in love
For sake of those in mercy left him still--
And hers: he might not stay. He could not live
To lose them all." The tenderest of plants
Required the careful'st gardening, and so
He worked on valiantly; and if he marked
An extra gleam of health in Trudchen's cheeks,
A growing strength in little Casper's laugh,
He bowed his head, and felt his work was paid.
Even as now, while sitting 'neath the tree,
He watched the bright-hair'd image of his wife,
Who danced before him in the evening sun,
Holding her tiny brother by the hand.

The frolics pause: now Cas