The Only Son

O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
What of the dales to-night?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing,
What ring of festal light?

_"In the great window as the day was dwindling
I saw an old man stand;
His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling,
But the list shook in his hand."_

O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered,
No sound of joy or wail?
_"'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered;
'Trust him, he would not fail.'"_

What of the chamber dark where she was lying
For whom all life is done?
_"Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying
'My son, my little son.'"_