The Flood of Thessaly The Girl of Provence, and Other Poems. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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 | The Flood of Thessaly |  |
There wreck'd they lay;
The woman in her husband's guardian arms,
(Clasped like a jewel in its sterner case,)
But lost to life, and dumb, and motionless:
And then that husband, faithful to the grave,
Strung once more his worn nerves, and with deep sobs,
And staggering steps, and sighs, bore her beyond
The tyranny of the seas. “Roar on,” he said—
“The treasure of the world is saved at last.”
So, pressing those cold lips, her head he raised
Upon his knee:—‘She will revive’—he sighed,
And fell, half-swooning; and sleep, long-delayed,
Came like a cloud and wrapped his limbs in rest.
The woman in her husband's guardian arms,
(Clasped like a jewel in its sterner case,)
But lost to life, and dumb, and motionless:
And then that husband, faithful to the grave,
Strung once more his worn nerves, and with deep sobs,
And staggering steps, and sighs, bore her beyond
57
“The treasure of the world is saved at last.”
So, pressing those cold lips, her head he raised
Upon his knee:—‘She will revive’—he sighed,
And fell, half-swooning; and sleep, long-delayed,
Came like a cloud and wrapped his limbs in rest.
| The Flood of Thessaly | |