Our voices took a dreary tone,

An echo of the dungeon stone,

A grating sound, not full and free,

As they of yore were wont to be:

It might be fancy—but to me

They never sounded like our own.

IV.

I was the eldest of the three,

And to uphold and cheer the rest70

70

I ought to do—and did my best—

And each did well in his degree.

The youngest, whom my father loved,

Because our mother's brow was given

To him, with eyes as blue as heaven—

For him my soul was sorely moved:

And truly might it be distressed

To see such bird in such a nest;[17][9]

[17]

For he was beautiful as day—

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