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! |
