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267
THE HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE.
Thy anguished bosom heaves no sigh,
So well it can its woes control;
Yet, gentle angel! how thine eye,
With its calm sadness racks my soul.
So well it can its woes control;
Yet, gentle angel! how thine eye,
With its calm sadness racks my soul.
I brought thee from thy happy home,
To wed with want and wretchedness;
And dost thou to my bosom come,
And him who made thee wretched bless?
To wed with want and wretchedness;
And dost thou to my bosom come,
And him who made thee wretched bless?
In all but love, how poor we are!
Yet thou wast cradled, dear, in ease;
And I—forgive me, gentle star!
And bless me with one smile of peace!
Yet thou wast cradled, dear, in ease;
And I—forgive me, gentle star!
And bless me with one smile of peace!
And thou art dying!—well, too well
I see death's mark upon thy brow;
Thine eyes the fatal message tell,
That I must lose thee, even now.
I see death's mark upon thy brow;
Thine eyes the fatal message tell,
That I must lose thee, even now.
268
Dear love! reproach me not! Too hard
Are now my own stern thoughts to bear;
That I thy happiness have marred,
And dimmed the jewel that I wear.
Are now my own stern thoughts to bear;
That I thy happiness have marred,
And dimmed the jewel that I wear.
Come, sing to me, as thou didst sing,
Ere life had grown all grief and pain;
Till sorrow to me cease to cling,
And I become a boy again.
Ere life had grown all grief and pain;
Till sorrow to me cease to cling,
And I become a boy again.
Perhaps we may be happier,
And yet some days of gladness see;
If not,—ah, death were welcomer
Than one reproachful look from thee.
And yet some days of gladness see;
If not,—ah, death were welcomer
Than one reproachful look from thee.
THE ANSWER.
Think not, dear husband, that my heart
Hath ever blamed thee for its pains;
Dearer and closer still thou art,
As life's short day too swiftly wanes.
Hath ever blamed thee for its pains;
Dearer and closer still thou art,
As life's short day too swiftly wanes.
'Tis true I left my father's home;
I left it gladly, love, for thee:
And thou, in sunshine and in gloom,
Hast been the universe to me.
I left it gladly, love, for thee:
And thou, in sunshine and in gloom,
Hast been the universe to me.
269
'Tis true that we are poor, too poor,—
But there's a joy in poverty;
I well knew what we must endure;—
How can I murmur, then, at thee?
But there's a joy in poverty;
I well knew what we must endure;—
How can I murmur, then, at thee?
Twine thy loved arms around me, dear!
Pillow my head upon thy breast;
And while our pitiless fate draws near,
Let us prepare to take our rest.
Pillow my head upon thy breast;
And while our pitiless fate draws near,
Let us prepare to take our rest.
And I will sing to thee, the song
By which my virgin heart was won,
Till thou shalt wander back, among
Those joys that now, alas! are gone.
By which my virgin heart was won,
Till thou shalt wander back, among
Those joys that now, alas! are gone.
So let our poor lives faint away,
Like the sad cadence of the strain;
And like twin stars at dawn of day,
Together we will calmly wane.
Like the sad cadence of the strain;
And like twin stars at dawn of day,
Together we will calmly wane.
1833.
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