Poems | Page 6

and hoary;
I see it plainly, know it well,

Like one who, having read a story,
Each incident therein can tell.
Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire
Of that forsaken child;
And
nought his relics can inspire
Save memories, sin-defiled.
I, who sat by his wife's death-bed,
I, who his daughter loved,
Could
almost curse the guilty dead,
For woes the guiltless proved.
And heaven did curse--they found him laid,
When crime for wrath
was rife,
Cold--with the suicidal blade
Clutched in his desperate
gripe.
'Twas near that long deserted hut,
Which in the wood decays,

Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root,
And lopped his desperate
days.
You know the spot, where three black trees,
Lift up their branches fell,

And moaning, ceaseless as the seas,
Still seem, in every passing
breeze,
The deed of blood to tell.
They named him mad, and laid his bones
Where holier ashes lie;

Yet doubt not that his spirit groans
In hell's eternity.
But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth,
Infects our thoughts with gloom;

Come, let us strive to rally mirth
Where glows a clear and tranquil
hearth
In some more cheerful room.

THE WIFE'S WILL.
Sit still--a word--a breath may break
(As light airs stir a sleeping lake)

The glassy calm that soothes my woes--
The sweet, the deep, the
full repose.
O leave me not! for ever be
Thus, more than life itself
to me!
Yes, close beside thee let me kneel--
Give me thy hand, that I may
feel
The friend so true--so tried--so dear,
My heart's own
chosen--indeed is near;
And check me not--this hour divine

Belongs to me--is fully mine.
'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside,
After long absence--wandering
wide;
'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes
A promise clear of
stormless skies;
For faith and true love light the rays
Which shine
responsive to her gaze.
Ay,--well that single tear may fall;
Ten thousand might mine eyes
recall,
Which from their lids ran blinding fast,
In hours of grief, yet
scarcely past;
Well mayst thou speak of love to me,
For, oh! most
truly--I love thee!
Yet smile--for we are happy now.
Whence, then, that sadness on thy
brow?
What sayst thou? "We muse once again,
Ere long, be severed
by the main!"
I knew not this--I deemed no more
Thy step would
err from Britain's shore.
"Duty commands!" 'Tis true--'tis just;
Thy slightest word I wholly
trust,
Nor by request, nor faintest sigh,
Would I to turn thy purpose
try;
But, William, hear my solemn vow--
Hear and confirm!--with
thee I go.
"Distance and suffering," didst thou say?
"Danger by night, and toil
by day?"
Oh, idle words and vain are these;
Hear me! I cross with
thee the seas.
Such risk as thou must meet and dare,
I--thy true

wife--will duly share.
Passive, at home, I will not pine;
Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine;

Grant this--and be hereafter paid
By a warm heart's devoted aid:

'Tis granted--with that yielding kiss,
Entered my soul unmingled
bliss.
Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy,
Pure, undefiled with base
alloy;
'Tis not a passion, false and blind,
Inspires, enchains, absorbs
my mind;
Worthy, I feel, art thou to be
Loved with my perfect
energy.
This evening now shall sweetly flow,
Lit by our clear fire's happy
glow;
And parting's peace-embittering fear,
Is warned our hearts to
come not near;
For fate admits my soul's decree,
In bliss or bale--to
go with thee!
THE WOOD.
But two miles more, and then we rest!
Well, there is still an hour of
day,
And long the brightness of the West
Will light us on our
devious way;
Sit then, awhile, here in this wood--
So total is the
solitude,
We safely may delay.
These massive roots afford a seat,
Which seems for weary travellers
made.
There rest. The air is soft and sweet
In this sequestered forest
glade,
And there are scents of flowers around,
The evening dew
draws from the ground;
How soothingly they spread!
Yes; I was tired, but not at heart;
No--that beats full of sweet content,

For now I have my natural part
Of action with adventure blent;

Cast forth on the wide world with thee,
And all my once waste
energy
To weighty purpose bent.
Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam,
Our aims are termed

conspiracy?
Haply, no more our English home
An anchorage for us
may be?
That there is risk our mutual blood
May redden in some
lonely wood
The knife of treachery?
Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night,
In each lone farm, or
lonelier hall
Of Norman Peer--ere morning light
Suspicion must as
duly fall,
As day returns--such vigilance
Presides and watches over
France,
Such rigour governs all?
I fear not, William; dost thou fear?
So that the knife does not divide,

It may be ever hovering near:
I could not tremble at thy side,
And
strenuous love--like mine for thee--
Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery,

And turns its stab aside.
I am resolved that thou shalt learn
To trust my strength as I trust thine;

I am resolved our souls shall burn
With equal, steady, mingling
shine;
Part of the field is conquered now,
Our lives in the same
channel flow,
Along the self-same line;
And while no groaning storm is heard,
Thou seem'st content it should
be so,
But soon as comes a warning word
Of danger--straight thine
anxious brow
Bends over me a mournful shade,
As doubting if my
powers are made
To ford the floods of woe.