Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell

Fair she was, and looked full young,
But with hair as white as snow;
And it trembled on my tongue
Once to ask her why 'twas so.
Then she told her heavy tale,
Growing all the time more pale;
Often, too, her voice would fail.

II

He was summoned to the war,
He who loved me as his life:
Went my heart with him afar;
I had vowed to be his wife.
When he said the last “good-bye,”
In words treasured till I die,
Silent tears were my reply.

186

III

What indeed was I to say?
All the world was out of tune;
I could only weep and pray,
Shiv'ring in the month of June.
Round me fell the sunshine bright,
But the day was dark as night,
For he took with him its light.

IV

Here I first had seen his face,
Here we wandered girl and boy;
Hated I the empty place,
Haunted with the ghosts of joy.
Nothing now was as of yore;
Restless grew I more and more,
Shadows fell across my door.

V

And within my breaking heart
Sprang to life a sudden thought,
Which of self became a part;
Daily form and substance caught;
Till it flashed like some bright star
Shining on me from afar,
Lighting me unto the war.

187

VI

Many women, I heard say,
Donned the nurse's sombre dress,
Went upon their loving way,
Angel-like, to work and bless.
I would follow with the rest,
Wear the red cross on my breast,
Succour all who were distressed.

VII

Should he suffer in the strife
For his country and the right,
I would give to him my life,
Nurse and tend him day and night;
Watching by his weary bed,
On my breast would lay his head,
Round him prayer and blessing shed.

VIII

So I went to foreign soil,
Joined the noble sister-band,
Shared their labour and their toil,
Bound up with a tender hand
Wounds of soldiers true and brave,
Laid out others for the grave,
Whom we tried, but could not, save.

188

IX

When I reached the camp abroad,
Arthur's regiment was not there;
It was marching on the road
To a station otherwhere.
So I missed him; but his name
Was in all men's mouths; his fame
Set my throbbing heart aflame.

X

It had reached my anxious ear
That a fight was fought and won,
That the battle cost us dear,
Though the foe was forced to run;
But my heart was all athrill,
Dreading tidings of some ill,
And the tears ran down at will.

XI

Rumour daily grew and grew,
Till there could not be a doubt:
Soon we found her tongue was true,—
We had put the foe to rout.
And now, 'midst the camp's loud din,
Captives daily were brought in,
Worn and footsore, pale and thin.

189

XII

Some were wounded, carried here,
Bearing marks of blood-red scar,
Borne on ambulance or bier,
Cursing this most fearful war.
Many a sad and dreadful sight
I have witness'd day and night,
Putting sleep and rest to flight.

XIII

Well, I waited day by day,
Lonely 'midst the busy crowd,
Sighed the anxious hours away
While I o'er the wounded bowed,
Bound the bandage, stanched the blood,
Gave the cooling draught or food,
Sought to cheer the weary mood.

XIV

Cured I too full many a sore,
Made by sabre, shell, or shot,
Wiped the death-sweat, cleansed the gore
Gathered into bloody clot;
Through the night, from chime to chime,
Watched I in that dreadful time,
Till I saw the morning climb

190

XV

O'er the distant hills, where he
Led his soldiers to the fight,
Where I knew he thought of me
While he storm'd the fort or height;
And I prayed that God would save
From a dark and bloody grave,
Him, the noble and the brave.

XVI

All awaited day by day,
With a throb of anxious pain,
Tidings from the camp to say
Who were saved and who were slain:
Not yet were dispatches sent;
Only rumours came and went,
Idle tales of camp and tent.

XVII

I was nursing by a bed
Where a helpless Russian lay,
With a sword-cut 'cross his head,
But with hope since yesterday.
It was owing to my care,—
So the surgeon did declare,—
Saved was this life from despair.

191

XVIII

Nigh to death he'd been,—so weak!
With a wild and wand'ring brain,
Now I saw he wished to speak,
All his mind itself again.
And he thanked me oft and oft,
In a whisper low and soft,
As I raised his hopes aloft.

XIX

Once I sat in thought and prayer
In the twilight grey and dim,
And the firelight threw its glare
O'er the chamber bare and grim.
“I must speak,” he gently said,
“Raise me higher in the bed,
Death I now no longer dread.

XX

“Thou hast saved me, sister dear,
Given me back to hope and life;
Not for self I hold life dear,
But for children and for wife.
Would that I could thank you right;
May God bless you day and night
With His blessings infinite!

192

XXI

“Some remembrance would I give,
That for my sake thou wilt wear,
For through thee, dear nurse, I live:
Would it were more worth thy care!”
'Neath his pillow then he took,
While his thin and white hand shook,
A small locket, saying, “Look!”

XXII

Close he held it to the light
By the lamp upon it cast;
And I started at the sight,
Staring wildly and aghast.
'Twas a locket of pure gold,
Set with jewels manifold,
And a tracery rich and bold.

XXIII

I was dumb; I could not speak:
All my brain was turning round;
Then there came a stifled shriek
As from one who feels a wound;
But with effort o'er the will,
Down I bow'd me and was still,
While his tale mine ear did fill.

193

XXIV

In low words he trembling said,—
Which in thunder o'er me brake,—
Ringing through the heart and head
With a power the soul to shake:—
“Once your soldiers fought their way,
In a fierce and bloody fray,
Through our regiments in array.

XXV

“'Cross the trampled grass and grain,
We the lines before us drave,
And were drawing back again
Like a strong retreating wave,
When an officer uprose,
In the line of English foes,
Our march onward to oppose.

XXVI

“He had led his gallant men
Far afront into the field;
By some chance was severed then
From his lines,—but would not yield.
Bravely fought he, but in vain;
By his hand were many slain,
Who lay round him on the plain.

194

XXVII

“When my sabre's blade I drew
With regret 'gainst one so brave,
One of us, full well I knew,
On that field would find a grave.
Nobler foe I ne'er had seen,
Of a firm and fearless mien;
Would a friend instead he'd been!

XXVIII

“We two fought alone, apart—
We fought fiercely, now I think—
And my sword went through his heart,
And I saw him totter, sink.
But a sudden pang of ruth
Smote me, sister, in good sooth,
As the red blood stained his mouth.

XXIX

“Knelt I on the miry ground,
Where he, stricken, bowed and fell;
Sought to staunch the gaping wound,
Whence the blood did well and well;
Opened wide his coat and vest,
Marked this locket on his breast,
Saw the dark eyes close in rest.

195

XXX

“Then I loosed it from his heart,
As within my arms he lay;
Sister, take it—do not start;
Prithee do not say me ‘nay.’
This poor gem I'll with thee leave,
'Twill with thine my memory weave,
My deep gratitude believe.”

XXXI

As the words he slowly spake,
Rushed upon me all the woe;
Waves of anguish o'er me brake,
'Gainst me all God's winds did blow;
And the bright and jewelled thing
Once I o'er his neck did fling
I saw coldly glittering.

XXXII

Backward fell he on the bed,
Quite exhausted, with a moan;
And I sat as one that's dead,
Hopeless, helpless, and undone.
Wild and madd'ning thoughts upcame,
Turning all my blood to flame:
Do you wonder, friend, or blame?

196

XXXIII

Ah! “his memory link'd with mine!”
That was with my being wrought:
Life itself I must resign
Ere I lost this dreadful thought.—
Know you what it is when pain,
Sweeping through the heart and brain,
Bids them break beneath the strain?

XXXIV

Filled was all my heart with strife,
Horror, anguish, bitter woe;
I had nursed him back to life,—
Him who dealt the cruel blow;
On the bed he helpless lay,
Who my love, my life, did slay,
On that black and bloody day.

XXXV

All within my whirling brain
Darkened grew as an eclipse;
And I shuddered with the strain,
And some wild words passed my lips.
Then a voice spake in my ear
In a whisper low but clear,
And I shrank in very fear:

197

XXXVI

“Why not let his murderer die?
Give no more the cooling drink,
Nor the healing balm apply;
He is trembling on death's brink!
Why attempt his life to save?
Let him sink into the grave:
He has slain thine own, thy brave!”

XXXVII

Then a blank.—One throb of pain—
Voices rang within my ears,
And a fire that scorched my brain,
At their source dried up the tears.
Then from burning lips did fall
One cry—“Jesu!”—that was all,
As for mercy I did call.

XXXVIII

But, thank God, no vengeful thought
Found a harbour in my mind,
Moved not in a soul o'er-wrought,
Or around my heart did wind.—
He had fought for home and wife;
Arthur might have ta'en his life,
In the fearful, fatal strife.

198

XXXIX

Well, that night passed,—God knows how,—
Slowly passed from chime to chime;
Thinking on it, I shrink now—
Oh, the horror of the time!
When, as broke the morning grey,
Came a voice from where he lay:
“Nurse, give me to drink, I pray.”

XL

But I moved not,—sat quite still,—
Had no strength to grant his prayer,—
Could not rise the cup to fill,
He had crush'd me with despair.
Soon again came plaintive word,
And I made no sign, nor stirred,—
Was as though I had not heard.

XLI

Then I looked towárd the wall,
Where was picture placed by me,—
On it full the light did fall:
Albert Durer's “Christ on Tree.”
Grace and mercy there I saw,
Love, of heav'n and earth the law;
And it thrilled me with deep awe.

199

XLII

Oh, the pathos of that face
On the broken heart bowed down:
How the blood-drops ran apace
From beneath the thorny crown!
Could I harbour thought of hate,
When He hung disconsolate,
Under my sins' heavy weight?

XLIII

Cried I: “Jesus, who didst know
All the bitterness and loss,
All the horror, all the woe
Of the sharp and awful cross,—
Help me now to do Thy will,
Bow my head, Lord, and be still,—
All my soul with patience fill!”

XLIV

Then I rose and seized the draught,
Placed it in the patient's hand,
Watched while he the med'cine quaffed;
And his fevered brow I fanned,
Sat beside him, as he slept,
Till the cold wan morning crept
Through the chamber,—and I wept!

200

XLV

When the surgeon came, a look
Charged with wonder fill'd his eyes;
And his voice that, trembling, shook,
Falter'd forth his deep surprise.
Turned I to the glass, and lo!
Saw a wan face charged with woe,
And the black hair white as snow!

University of Virginia Library

A STORY OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.

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