The Disciples

love him evermore. 1847. Among the mountains, on the farther side Of far Abruzzo, lies Cialdole, The highest hamlet upon all those hills. There was I born, and there lived all the years, (And all were happy), while I was a boy. I think the sun was always shining then, Upon the hillsides where I kept the goats, That were my father's ;?but when I was born He set apart a pair to be my own ; And these increased, until a little flock Was ready for me, to be led away To the new home upon the mountain-ledge, Which I had now begun to build in hope ; The spot where grew the sward most smooth and fine, A little lower than my father's house ; While in another house sat my betrothed, And spun the flax, and when I looked on her, And said ' Next year shall bring our wedding-day,' Lifted her great black eyes and smiled on me. But in a certain year fell many plagues Upon the country. First, the frost and snow On the high hills ; and then, when summer came, The rain and blight;?far down upon the plains The mulberries and the maize were smitten sore ; And on the mountain slopes the vintage failed, And the flax withered ; and in all the land All harvest came to nought ; and to our ears The rumours came of famine, and at last The thing itself came towards us, creeping on Like a storm-shadow ;?and the want was felt. For when our own land failed us, what had we, Who lived on our own land, and had no stores, ...