 | Ballads and Other Poems |  |
II. TRUE LOVE.
There are furrows on thy brow, wife,
Thy hair is thin and grey,
And the light that once was in thine eye
Hath sorrow stolen away.
Thou art no longer fair, wife,
The rose has left thy cheek,
And thy once firm and graceful form
Is wasted now and weak.
Thy hair is thin and grey,
And the light that once was in thine eye
Hath sorrow stolen away.
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The rose has left thy cheek,
And thy once firm and graceful form
Is wasted now and weak.
But thy heart is just as warm, wife,
As when we first were wed;
As when thy merry eye was bright,
And thy smooth cheek was red.
Ah! that is long ago, wife,
We thought not then of care;
We then were spendthrifts of our joy,
We now have none to spare.
As when we first were wed;
As when thy merry eye was bright,
And thy smooth cheek was red.
Ah! that is long ago, wife,
We thought not then of care;
We then were spendthrifts of our joy,
We now have none to spare.
Well, well, dost thou remember, wife,
The little child we laid,
The three-years' darling, fair and pure,
Beneath the yew-tree's shade.
The worth from life was gone, wife,
We said with foolish tongue;
But we've blessed, since then, the Chastener
Who took the child so young.
The little child we laid,
The three-years' darling, fair and pure,
Beneath the yew-tree's shade.
The worth from life was gone, wife,
We said with foolish tongue;
But we've blessed, since then, the Chastener
Who took the child so young.
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There was John, thy boast and pride, wife,
Who lived to manhood's prime—
Would God I could have died for him
Who died before his time!
There is Jane, thy second self, wife,
A thing of sin and shame;
Our poorest neighbours pity us
When they but hear her name.
Who lived to manhood's prime—
Would God I could have died for him
Who died before his time!
There is Jane, thy second self, wife,
A thing of sin and shame;
Our poorest neighbours pity us
When they but hear her name.
Yet she's thy child and mine, wife,
I nursed her on my knee,
And the evil, woful ways she took
Were never taught by thee.
We were proud of her fair face, wife;
And I have tamely stood,
And not avenged her downfall
In her betrayer's blood.
I nursed her on my knee,
And the evil, woful ways she took
Were never taught by thee.
We were proud of her fair face, wife;
And I have tamely stood,
And not avenged her downfall
In her betrayer's blood.
The thought was in my mind, wife,
I cursed him to his face:
But he was rich, and I was poor;
The rich know no disgrace.
The gallows would have had me, wife;
For that I did not care:
The only thing that saved his life
Were thoughts of thy despair.
I cursed him to his face:
But he was rich, and I was poor;
The rich know no disgrace.
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For that I did not care:
The only thing that saved his life
Were thoughts of thy despair.
There's something in thy face, wife,
That calms my maddened brain:
Thy furrowed cheek, thy hollow eye,
Thy look of patient pain;
Thy lips that never smile, wife,
Thy bloodless cheeks and wan;
Thy form which once was beautiful.
Whose beauty now is gone;
That calms my maddened brain:
Thy furrowed cheek, thy hollow eye,
Thy look of patient pain;
Thy lips that never smile, wife,
Thy bloodless cheeks and wan;
Thy form which once was beautiful.
Whose beauty now is gone;
Oh! these they tell such tales, wife,
They fill my eyes with tears.
We have borne so much together
Through these long thirty years,
That I will meekly bear, wife,
What God appointeth here;
Nor add to thy o'erflowing cup
Another bitter tear.
They fill my eyes with tears.
We have borne so much together
Through these long thirty years,
That I will meekly bear, wife,
What God appointeth here;
Nor add to thy o'erflowing cup
Another bitter tear.
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Let the betrayer live, wife;
Be this our only prayer,
That grief may send our prodigal
Back to the father's care.
Give me thy faithful hand, wife—
O God, who reign'st above,
We bless thee, in our misery,
For one sure solace—love!
Be this our only prayer,
That grief may send our prodigal
Back to the father's care.
Give me thy faithful hand, wife—
O God, who reign'st above,
We bless thee, in our misery,
For one sure solace—love!
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