[Three children sitting wearily beside creek]

Verse 8: Unwarily on, till their weary arms ache, And crave a short respite from toil, And then, like brave conquerors resting from strife, Exulting they gaze on the spoil. Oh! won't our dear father be happy and proud, A faggot like this now to see, And mother dear mother, her praise will be loud, And sweet as it ever can be. And thus the three prattled - thus joyfully spoke, Until they their trouble forgot; Till Jennie the charm once more suddenly broke, And urged them to move from the spot.