THE VAUDOIS' WIFE. 47 THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.1 Clasp me a little longer, on the brink Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress: That thou to me hast been all tenderness, Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in dust. Gertrude of Wyoming. THY Voice is in mine ear, beloved! Thy look is in my heart, Thy bosom is my resting-place, And yet I must depart. Earth on my soul is strong-too strong Too precious is its chain, All woven of thy love, dear friend, Yet vain-though mighty-vain! Thou seest mine eye grow dim, beloved! Bow to the chastener silently, 1 The wife of a Vaudois leader, in one of the attacks made on the Protestant hamlets, received a mortal wound, and died in her husband's arms, exhorting him to courage and endurance. A little while between our hearts Alas! thy tears are on my cheek, I know that from thine agony Best, kindest, weep not;-make the pang, Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy, To feel thy love's excess! But calm thee! Let the thought of death A solemn peace restore! The voice that must be silent soon, A token of consoling love, Even from this hour of strife. I bless thee for the noble heart, The tender, and the true, Where mine hath found the happiest rest I bless thee, faithful friend and guide, THE VAUDOIS' WIFE. I bless thee for kind looks and words Shower'd on my path like dew, For the voice which ne'er to mine replied For every spring of happiness I bless thee for the last rich boon The right to gaze on death with thee, And yet more for the glorious hope Even to these moments given Did not thy spirit ever lift The trust of mine to Heaven? Now be thou strong? Oh! knew we not A shadow and a trembling still We plighted our young hearts when storms In full, deep knowledge of their task Be strong! I leave the living voice 49 A spirit 'midst the caves to dwell, To rouse the valiant from repose, Hear it, and bear thou on, my love! Our mountains must be altars yet, There must our God be worshipp'd still With the worship of the freeFarewell! there's but one pang in death, One only,—leaving thee! My battle-vow!-no minster walls Nor cross nor shrine the low deep tone Of smother'd vengeance heard; But the ashes of a ruin'd home Thrill'd as it sternly rose, With the mingling voice of blood that shook The midnight's dark repose. THE GUERILLA LEADER'S vow. I stood amidst my dead alone I kiss'd their lips-I pour'd, The roof-tree fall'n, the smouldering floor, The bright hair torn, and soil'd with blood, Bore witness that wild night; The stars, the searching stars of heaven, If from my heart the fiery vow, Sear'd on it then, could fade. They have no cause!-Go, ask the streams The red waves that unstain'd were born- And other eyes are on my soul, The sad, sweet glances of the lost They leave me no repose. 51 |