Peter Faultless to his brother Simon :: :: University of Virginia Library

“I am, indeed,” she said, “bereft
Of him I lov'd!—but why he left
His faithful Mary, who shall tell?
Oh! still I love him, still too well!
I never gave him cause for flight.”

“Except,” said he, “a scratch or bite,
On th' prominent proboscis, or a
Kick, now and then, i' th' guts.”—

“With sorrow,”

182

Resum'd the nettled bride, “I own
That, once, I knock'd my husband down;
But then, beneath my very nose,
He kiss'd, when drunk, that gipsey, Rose,
Who, ever hankering after fellows,
Thinks all their wives of her are jealous.
Besides, to make a husband fly,
That broken noddle, or black eye,
Is cause sufficient, I deny,
And thee to prove it such defy,
And would do, wert thou ten feet high;
Nor do I know why mine left me.
Yet oft I beg, on bended knee,
Heaven's pardon for th' unconscious crime,
Whate'er the hapless cause might be.
How slowly pass'd the heavy time!
At last,—when gone were ten sad years,—
A stranger found me in my tears,
And told me, that my William died,
On wintry Champlain's woody side.
He saw, the stranger saw, and tried

183

To soothe, with words, my heart's despair.
He was not, like my William, fair;
But, underneath a brow of care,
His amber'd cheek was manly brown;
And, o'er his woe-worn features thrown,
Oft pass'd a rapid smile and wild,—
The sweetness of a dreaming child
Mix'd with the warrior's majesty.
And he had been my William's friend,
The soother of his journey's end.
Together had they roam'd the woods,
And cross'd the dread Columbian floods;
Together had they fought and fled,
On Champlain's side together bled;
And there he saw my William die.
With throbbing breast, and flowing eye,
I lov'd, I deeply lov'd, to hear
The stranger talk of one so dear,
Of William's fondness, William's fate,
And late repentance, ah, too late!—
He named me, with his dying breath!
He bless'd me, in the arms of death!
This lock is all he could bequeath,

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To her who—oh, those tears of thine,
Old man, already pardon mine!—
And welcome still the stranger came;
And still in dreams I sigh'd his name;
And still the oft-told tale was sweet;
And still would he the tale repeat;
(He was to me even as a brother!)
And, while our tears in concert stream'd,
I mourn'd my husband,—so I dream'd,—
I mourn'd him—till I lov'd another!
But could my earliest love return,
My William whom I still will mourn,
I would for him renounce”—she sigh'd,—
“Mathew, and all the world beside.”