Poems | Page 6

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.
Know, then it is my spirit swells,?And drinks, with eager joy, the air?Of freedom--where at last it dwells,?Chartered, a common task to share?With thee, and then it stirs alert,?And pants to learn what menaced hurt?Demands for thee its care.
Remember, I have crossed the deep,?And stood with thee on deck, to gaze?On waves that rose in threatening heap,?While stagnant lay a heavy haze,?Dimly confusing sea with sky,?And baffling, even, the pilot's eye,?Intent to thread the maze--
Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast,?And find a way to steer our band?To the one point obscure, which lost,?Flung us, as victims, on the strand;--?All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword,?And not a wherry could be moored?Along the guarded land.
I feared not then--I fear not now;?The interest of each stirring