 | The Poems of Mackenzie Bell |  |
82
THE PURITAN'S FAREWELL TO HIS BETROTHED.
(1642.)
SHE—
When Love arose and taught my heart
To hold thee first and chief,
I never dreamed that we should part
In pain beyond belief,
Then wherefore bring this aching woe
To me, to thee, to all,
E'en though harsh Duty bids thee go
To obey thy faction's call?
To hold thee first and chief,
I never dreamed that we should part
In pain beyond belief,
Then wherefore bring this aching woe
To me, to thee, to all,
E'en though harsh Duty bids thee go
To obey thy faction's call?
HE—
Nay, speak not so; that sigh, that look,
Wound worse than blades of steel,
Yet what were I if I forsook,
Because of thine appeal,
No “faction” but God's righteous cause,
No struggle of greed and shame—
One stern last stand for Right and laws
That win His high acclaim?
Wound worse than blades of steel,
Yet what were I if I forsook,
Because of thine appeal,
No “faction” but God's righteous cause,
No struggle of greed and shame—
One stern last stand for Right and laws
That win His high acclaim?
Truth, Justice, Conscience plead with me,
Then wouldst thou have me, dear,
For calm and ease and joy with thee
To yield to craven fear—
To prove a recreant from the right—
A coward sore afraid—
A traitor in the coming fight
Where England needs mine aid?
Then wouldst thou have me, dear,
For calm and ease and joy with thee
To yield to craven fear—
83
A coward sore afraid—
A traitor in the coming fight
Where England needs mine aid?
Thou murmur'st, “We shall meet no more:”
I know, I know thy pain,
Our life is brief, but when 'tis o'er
True lovers live again—
They live again in that fair land
Where comes nor strife nor sword—
Where Truth and Joy go hand in hand—
And Love hath Faith's reward.
I know, I know thy pain,
Our life is brief, but when 'tis o'er
True lovers live again—
They live again in that fair land
Where comes nor strife nor sword—
Where Truth and Joy go hand in hand—
And Love hath Faith's reward.
There, where each feeling stands confessed,
Wilt thou know all my sorrow—
Wilt know what pangs have rent my breast
Ere leaving thee to-morrow.
Lo, hearken to the distant chime,
To us a knell of sadness,
Then let us spend our span of time
In peace more deep than gladness.
Wilt thou know all my sorrow—
Wilt know what pangs have rent my breast
Ere leaving thee to-morrow.
Lo, hearken to the distant chime,
To us a knell of sadness,
Then let us spend our span of time
In peace more deep than gladness.
SHE—
The weakness goes: oh, heed it not!
My fears have done thee wrong;
My pain is but my woman's lot,
And Love shall make me strong:—
In these brave arms I will be brave,
And while thou still art here,
To God will lift my soul, and crave
The peace which casts out fear.
My fears have done thee wrong;
My pain is but my woman's lot,
And Love shall make me strong:—
In these brave arms I will be brave,
And while thou still art here,
To God will lift my soul, and crave
The peace which casts out fear.
| The Poems of Mackenzie Bell | |