 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
WAR TIME.
Silently they sat together—not a whisper, not a word;
Only now and then a sobbing or a shuddering sigh was heard.
Two sad women weeping sorely,—Robert's mother and his bride;
One was bent with years and sorrow, one was in her youthful pride.
Yet both hearts were torn with anguish; life for them had lost its bloom,
Grief made wreck of all the future, not a ray to pierce the gloom.
Only now and then a sobbing or a shuddering sigh was heard.
Two sad women weeping sorely,—Robert's mother and his bride;
One was bent with years and sorrow, one was in her youthful pride.
Yet both hearts were torn with anguish; life for them had lost its bloom,
Grief made wreck of all the future, not a ray to pierce the gloom.
War, with all its bloody horrors, broke out many months ago,
And there came the urgent summons, calling men to meet the foe;
There was gath'ring of the regiments, sounds of muster far and near,
Neigh of horses, martial music, trumpet-blast, and clarion clear.
When the country asked for soldiers, who would dare to shrink from fight?
All would strike for hearth and altar: for the true and for the right.
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There was gath'ring of the regiments, sounds of muster far and near,
Neigh of horses, martial music, trumpet-blast, and clarion clear.
When the country asked for soldiers, who would dare to shrink from fight?
All would strike for hearth and altar: for the true and for the right.
All alive the Minster City with the call of bugle-horn,
With the clash and clink of armour, and the muster night and morn;
Horses champed in street and stable, neighed as if they smelt afar,
Borne for leagues across the valley, scent of strife and coming war.
Every place was filled with clamour, noise of jingling spur and sword,
And, through all, the ring of rifle and the roll of drums was heard.
With the clash and clink of armour, and the muster night and morn;
Horses champed in street and stable, neighed as if they smelt afar,
Borne for leagues across the valley, scent of strife and coming war.
Every place was filled with clamour, noise of jingling spur and sword,
And, through all, the ring of rifle and the roll of drums was heard.
Robert marched with other soldiers,—parted from his clinging wife:
Three months only were they wedded, ere there came the sound of strife;
And she bore herself right bravely, blessed him as she saw him go,
For she felt he was his country's, and had noble work to do!
But when came the last embraces, when she said the long “Good-bye,”
Then she felt the pang of parting, was as pang of those who die.
Three months only were they wedded, ere there came the sound of strife;
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For she felt he was his country's, and had noble work to do!
But when came the last embraces, when she said the long “Good-bye,”
Then she felt the pang of parting, was as pang of those who die.
They had loved from early childhood,—loved each other girl and boy,
Played together in the meadows, shared each other's grief and joy;
Plucked the sweet and fragrant flowers in the long, bright summer days,
Wandered all along the river, or through tangled woodland ways,
Knelt together in the Minster, where their prayers went up to heaven,
In the flush of early morning, or the hush of solemn even.
Played together in the meadows, shared each other's grief and joy;
Plucked the sweet and fragrant flowers in the long, bright summer days,
Wandered all along the river, or through tangled woodland ways,
Knelt together in the Minster, where their prayers went up to heaven,
In the flush of early morning, or the hush of solemn even.
He had never told his feelings,—she had never probed her own,
Till one evening in the May-time as they watched the sun go down,
Flushing all the hills with colour, making all the land-scape bright,
To his heart came sudden rapture, filling all his eye with light;
And he poured out his deep passion,—breathed it in a willing ear,
Told her how he loved her truly, and had loved for many a year.
Till one evening in the May-time as they watched the sun go down,
Flushing all the hills with colour, making all the land-scape bright,
To his heart came sudden rapture, filling all his eye with light;
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Told her how he loved her truly, and had loved for many a year.
As he spake she blushed and trembled, thrilled to hear his fervent tale,
Vainly tried to find an answer, voice and words both seemed to fail.
But at length there came a whisper in a low and undertone,—
She was his, and ever had been—ever would be his alone.
Life would not be life without him—of that life he was a part;
Yes! she loved him dearly: only: with her woman's tender heart!
Vainly tried to find an answer, voice and words both seemed to fail.
But at length there came a whisper in a low and undertone,—
She was his, and ever had been—ever would be his alone.
Life would not be life without him—of that life he was a part;
Yes! she loved him dearly: only: with her woman's tender heart!
All the orchards were in blossom,—bloom on every branch and bough,
Bloom on pear, and peach, and apple, like great heaps of scented snow;
All the copses rang with singing, and the lark sang in the blue,
And the world was filled with music, and their hearts were singing too.
All about them was so dream-like,—all so new, so very sweet.
Hardly knew they if the heavens were above or 'neath their feet.
Bloom on pear, and peach, and apple, like great heaps of scented snow;
All the copses rang with singing, and the lark sang in the blue,
And the world was filled with music, and their hearts were singing too.
All about them was so dream-like,—all so new, so very sweet.
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They were one in vow and promise, as they were in heart before,
And that summer caught a beauty that till now no summer wore;
And the golden moon above them never seem'd to them so fair,
As to shining stars and planets she laid all her beauty bare;
While the flowers that sprang around them, simplest daisy on the sod,
Like the bush that burnt for Moses, burned to them as if with God.
And that summer caught a beauty that till now no summer wore;
And the golden moon above them never seem'd to them so fair,
As to shining stars and planets she laid all her beauty bare;
While the flowers that sprang around them, simplest daisy on the sod,
Like the bush that burnt for Moses, burned to them as if with God.
They were wedded in the Minster, where they often knelt to pray;
Left it in a happy dream-land, not a shadow on their way.
Followed soon the sweet home-coming, with its rest, and peace, and grace;
Love, with all its light and lustre, glorified the commonplace.
And as days and weeks passed onward, each to other grew so dear,
That a new and happy Eden seemed to bless this nether sphere.
Left it in a happy dream-land, not a shadow on their way.
Followed soon the sweet home-coming, with its rest, and peace, and grace;
Love, with all its light and lustre, glorified the commonplace.
And as days and weeks passed onward, each to other grew so dear,
That a new and happy Eden seemed to bless this nether sphere.
But their bliss was rudely broken: War came, filling homes with dread,
And with sad forecasting bodings of the wounded and the dead,
With farewells and bitter partings, last embraces, passionate cries,
Tears that started all unbidden from the heart to weeping eyes.
“Wife,” in faltering tones said Robert—“I must go, and you must stay;
Blessings on your head, my darling; think of me, dear love, and pray.”
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With farewells and bitter partings, last embraces, passionate cries,
Tears that started all unbidden from the heart to weeping eyes.
“Wife,” in faltering tones said Robert—“I must go, and you must stay;
Blessings on your head, my darling; think of me, dear love, and pray.”
Mary and his agèd mother lived together in one home,
Sought to comfort each the other till he to their arms should come;
Bore with patience Robert's absence, went about their household ways,
Longed and hoped for his returning—passed as best they might their days;
Trembled when news came of battle, borne in rumour from afar;
Sickened as they heard of fighting, and the horrors of the war.
Sought to comfort each the other till he to their arms should come;
Bore with patience Robert's absence, went about their household ways,
Longed and hoped for his returning—passed as best they might their days;
Trembled when news came of battle, borne in rumour from afar;
Sickened as they heard of fighting, and the horrors of the war.
One sad morning brought the tidings, flashing all along the wire,
Of a long and bloody battle, where beneath a deadly fire
Hundreds were mowed down together in thick swathes along the plain,
But as yet no names were given—who were living, who were slain;
One thing only known as certain: All had nobly borne their part,
England well might bear their memory 'mongst the bravest on her heart.
Of a long and bloody battle, where beneath a deadly fire
Hundreds were mowed down together in thick swathes along the plain,
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One thing only known as certain: All had nobly borne their part,
England well might bear their memory 'mongst the bravest on her heart.
Where was he—the son, the husband? Lying covered o'er with scars?
Sorely wounded? dead or dying, with his wan face to the stars?
Was he living, weak and helpless,—not a friend or kinsman near?
Did he call for wife or mother? call for help, and they not hear?
Oh, where was he? Christ in heaven! has the pity left Thine eyes?
Has Thine ear grown dull and heavy? Is it deaf to all our cries?
Sorely wounded? dead or dying, with his wan face to the stars?
Was he living, weak and helpless,—not a friend or kinsman near?
Did he call for wife or mother? call for help, and they not hear?
Oh, where was he? Christ in heaven! has the pity left Thine eyes?
Has Thine ear grown dull and heavy? Is it deaf to all our cries?
Thus they spake while tears fell thickly, waiting till fresh tidings came,
Dreading lest the next dispatches should contain the husband's name.
Scanned they every list with terror, with a quiv'ring, shrinking eye,
With a blind and sick'ning anguish, and a feeling they must die,
If the fear that thrilled and shook them, should at once take actual form,
And the muttering of the tempest burst upon them in the storm.
Dreading lest the next dispatches should contain the husband's name.
Scanned they every list with terror, with a quiv'ring, shrinking eye,
With a blind and sick'ning anguish, and a feeling they must die,
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And the muttering of the tempest burst upon them in the storm.
Came at length the worst they dreaded. In the list was Robert's name,
'Mongst the men who sold life dearly, and it burnt them like a flame:
Plain it lay upon the paper, just as if none else were there,—
And they turned upon each other one blank look of great despair;
Love and hope for them were over! earth was empty, life was vain!
In that moment nature taught them her capacities of pain.
'Mongst the men who sold life dearly, and it burnt them like a flame:
Plain it lay upon the paper, just as if none else were there,—
And they turned upon each other one blank look of great despair;
Love and hope for them were over! earth was empty, life was vain!
In that moment nature taught them her capacities of pain.
Then a shriek, a cry of anguish, followed by a shuddering wail,
And they both sat broken-hearted,—sat with faces wild and pale;
Moved not, stirred not, sorrow-stricken,—just like statues, turned to stone,
Life and feeling lost in anguish: for the moment dead and gone—
Dry the eye-balls, seared and burning, not one tear did overflow;
Better stormy gusts of weeping, than this sullen, silent woe.
And they both sat broken-hearted,—sat with faces wild and pale;
Moved not, stirred not, sorrow-stricken,—just like statues, turned to stone,
Life and feeling lost in anguish: for the moment dead and gone—
Dry the eye-balls, seared and burning, not one tear did overflow;
Better stormy gusts of weeping, than this sullen, silent woe.
Mary rose at last quite calmly, to her heart his mother pressed,
Wound her loving arms around her, laid her head upon her breast,
Wailed forth sadly, “Mother! Mother!” gave a cry of sharpest pain;
Then the pent-up grief was loosened, came the tears like showers of rain,
And the women wept together, knelt, and prayed aloud to God;
Prayed for patience, sought for mercy, bent to kiss the chastening rod.
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Wailed forth sadly, “Mother! Mother!” gave a cry of sharpest pain;
Then the pent-up grief was loosened, came the tears like showers of rain,
And the women wept together, knelt, and prayed aloud to God;
Prayed for patience, sought for mercy, bent to kiss the chastening rod.
Followed days of desolation,—passing each with leaden pace,
Dark and gloomy was the present, and the future hard to face:
All the streams of life were frozen—gone its sweet and pleasant spring—
Love and joy, that once made sunshine, had for ever taken wing;
Hope had burn'd down to the socket; in its ashes lived no fire;
One great, dismal, helpless sorrow, slew the present, killed desire.
Dark and gloomy was the present, and the future hard to face:
All the streams of life were frozen—gone its sweet and pleasant spring—
Love and joy, that once made sunshine, had for ever taken wing;
Hope had burn'd down to the socket; in its ashes lived no fire;
One great, dismal, helpless sorrow, slew the present, killed desire.
As they sat one summer's evening in the garden 'neath the shade,
Looking on the shining glory which the west'ring sunshine made,
Listening to the merry singing of the throstle in the tree,
Catching just the drowsy murmur in the linden of the bee,
Talking sometimes, sometimes silent, all their thoughts on that dear time
When he, too, was sitting with them, underneath this very lime—
Looking on the shining glory which the west'ring sunshine made,
Listening to the merry singing of the throstle in the tree,
Catching just the drowsy murmur in the linden of the bee,
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When he, too, was sitting with them, underneath this very lime—
Heard they through a pause a footstep, passing by the wicker gate;
All they thought was,—“'Tis some neighbour come to pay a visit late.”
So they moved not at his coming, waiting till he reached the place,
Hoping then to bid him welcome, with the sad smile on their face.
Friends came oft to cheer the sorrow of their dark and lonely life,
Grieving for the mourning mother, for the early widowed wife!
All they thought was,—“'Tis some neighbour come to pay a visit late.”
So they moved not at his coming, waiting till he reached the place,
Hoping then to bid him welcome, with the sad smile on their face.
Friends came oft to cheer the sorrow of their dark and lonely life,
Grieving for the mourning mother, for the early widowed wife!
As the steps drew nearer, closer, turned they round their heads to see—
God of grace! Who stood before them? Some pale ghost? or was it he?
Throbbed their hearts, and thrilled their pulses, and their soul was in their eyes:
Ah, did graves give back their tenants? Did the dead from death arise?
Were they mad, or were they dreaming? Was he come to them once more?
Come to home, and arms all empty,—come to heal the hearts so sore?
God of grace! Who stood before them? Some pale ghost? or was it he?
Throbbed their hearts, and thrilled their pulses, and their soul was in their eyes:
Ah, did graves give back their tenants? Did the dead from death arise?
Were they mad, or were they dreaming? Was he come to them once more?
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Had suspense a moment longer held them in its cruel sway,
Mary must have maddened surely—brain and sense had given way.
There she stood with eyes dilated, brow and bosom all aflame,
While through parted lips the breathing in great shudd'ring spasms came;
Then a cry—half shriek, half whisper—“Robert! Robert! is it you?
O my God, can this be real? Am I mad? Or is it true?”
Mary must have maddened surely—brain and sense had given way.
There she stood with eyes dilated, brow and bosom all aflame,
While through parted lips the breathing in great shudd'ring spasms came;
Then a cry—half shriek, half whisper—“Robert! Robert! is it you?
O my God, can this be real? Am I mad? Or is it true?”
“Mary! Mother! Darling Mary!” And the voice upon her ear
Sounded like a voice from heaven,—banished every doubt and fear.
Then she sprang into his arms, dropp'd her face upon his breast,
Wept sweet tears of holy rapture, with a sense of blessèd rest;
Felt this hour was compensation for the anguish now gone by,
Felt if death had come that moment, then it were most blest to die.
Sounded like a voice from heaven,—banished every doubt and fear.
Then she sprang into his arms, dropp'd her face upon his breast,
Wept sweet tears of holy rapture, with a sense of blessèd rest;
Felt this hour was compensation for the anguish now gone by,
Felt if death had come that moment, then it were most blest to die.
Fondly gazed they on their lost one—found again—their own—their own—
Who brought back to life its sweetness when all hope was dead and gone:
Saw that he was bronzed and bearded, and on either cheek a scar,
Thought he never looked so noble, as with those deep marks of war;
For they spake of dauntless courage, how he braved the shot and shell,
Bore him in the battle bravely, rushed through fire and smoke of hell.
Who brought back to life its sweetness when all hope was dead and gone:
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Thought he never looked so noble, as with those deep marks of war;
For they spake of dauntless courage, how he braved the shot and shell,
Bore him in the battle bravely, rushed through fire and smoke of hell.
Then he told them all his story, how he had been left for slain,
'Mongst a heap of dead and dying, on the bloody battle-plain;
How they found him faint and bleeding, with a wound on breast and head;
How for weeks he was unconscious, lying on a fever-bed;
How life conquered in the struggle, after long delirious days;
“Nay, what matter now, my darling? to our God be all the praise.”
'Mongst a heap of dead and dying, on the bloody battle-plain;
How they found him faint and bleeding, with a wound on breast and head;
How for weeks he was unconscious, lying on a fever-bed;
How life conquered in the struggle, after long delirious days;
“Nay, what matter now, my darling? to our God be all the praise.”
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |