XXI.

And see, below the flutterer's dance,
From earth a streak of color springing;
It is the primrose leaves that glance,
To him his daughter's presence bringing.

XXII.

To her 'twas May's most precious flower,
That well she loved, and tended oft;
Its pale stars filled her hawthorn bower
With clustering fancies mild and soft.

XXIII.

She strewed it o'er her mother's grave,
Its grace with Henry loved to note;
To Simon oft the flower she gave,
And fixed it in his Sunday coat.

XXIV.

And now, with gradual change of heart,
He saw it peep above the sod
Where she was laid: it seemed to start
A special sign for him from God.

XXV.

An hour he sat, and marked it well,
Then rose and would behold it near;
His face no more was hard and fell,
No more the man was numbed and drear.

XXVI.

Another hour upon his staff
He leant, and pored above the grave;
He gave at length a silent laugh,
And seemed to grasp some purpose brave.

XXVII.

Then eager toward his house he went,
And took his old and idle spade,
And round his fields with fixed intent
He walked, and many pauses made:

XXVIII.

And where below the hedge-row shade,
A little tuft of primrose grew,
He dug it with his churchyard spade,
As if 'twere gold that thence he drew.

XXIX.

And so with sods of yellow flowers
He filled his basket full and gay,
And back in evening's quiet hours
Towards the church he took his way.

XXX.

Beside the grave of Jane he stood,
And round it smoothly dug the ground;
With clods as many as he could,
He made a primrose border round.