Page:Poems White.djvu/146

To be true to his fairest of fair.
He looked up, and below the ground spurned.
When at last the boy grew to a man,
Her good father was living with them.
One bright morning, as day just began,
The paper was handed; the news then
The boy read aloud to them both,
As the three at their breakfast did chat,
Of a woman for whom we should loath,
A poor miserable creature at that.
How she'd married a youth in his teens,
And left him at the birth of her boy.
She had gone down and down, by such means,
For the sins of the earth to enjoy.
And now as this true story begun,
She was dead, worth a million or more,
Which she left to her one unknown son,
Who was living somewhere on the earth.
To find him, and to place in his care
This her wealth, for leaving him so,
May it pay back to him but the share,
For a mother from her babe to go.
When he finished the paper he threw.
"I am glad she's no mother of mine;
I am proud a good mother to know,
All this money's a life that has lied."
So off to his own room he did stride,
And returned with a photograph true
Of sweet Gwendolyn as a fair bride.
"Father, one's proud of parents like you."

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