THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

47

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.'

Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress :
And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think-

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess —

That thou to me hast been all tenderness,
And friend, to more than human friendship just.

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 !

Thou seest my life-blood flow.–
Bow to the chastener silently,

And calmly let me go!

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

The shadowy gulf must lie,
Yet have we for their communing

Still, still Eternity!

Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,

My spirit they detain;
I know that from thine agony

Is wrung that burning rain.
Best, kindest, weep not;-make the pang,

The bitter conflict, lessOh! 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,

Would speak to thee once more,
That thou may'st bear its blessings on

Through years of after lifeA 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

That e'er fond woman's knew;
I bless thee, faithful friend and guide,

For my own, my treasured share,
In the mournful secrets of thy soul,

In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

49

I bless thee for kind looks and words

Shower'd on my path like dew,
For all the love in those deep eyes

A gladness ever new!
For the voice which ne'er to mine replied

But in kindly tones of cheer;
For every spring of happiness

My soul hath tasted here!

I bless thee for the last rich boon

Won from affection tried,
The right to gaze on death with thee,

To perish by thy side!
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

Our path must lead to this ?
A shadow and a trembling still

Were mingled with our bliss !
We plighted our young hearts when storms

Were dark upon the sky,
In full, deep knowledge of their task

To suffer and to die !

Be strong! I leave the living voice

Of this, my martyr'd blood,
With the thousand echoes of the hills,

With the torrent's foaming flood, -
Vol. VI. 5

A spirit 'midst the caves to dwell,

A token on the air,
To rouse the valiant from repose,

The fainting from despair.

Hear it, and bear thou on, my love!

Ay, joyously endure !
Our mountains must be altars yet,

Inviolate and pure;
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!

Let us make medicine of this great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief!

Macbeth.

My battle-vow !-- no minster walls

Gave back the burning word,
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.

51

I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,

But where my children lay,
And the startled vulture, at my step

Soar'd from their precious clay.
I stood amidst my dead alone —

I kiss'd their lips—I pour’d,
In the strong silence of that hour,

My spirit on my sword.

The roof-tree fall'n, the smouldering floor,

The blacken'd threshold-stone,
The bright hair torn, and soild with blood,

Whose fountain was my own:
These, and the everlasting hills,

Bore witness that wild night; Before them rose th' avenger's soul,

In crush'd affection's might.

The stars, the searching stars of heaven,

With keen looks would upbraid,
If from my heart the fiery vow,

Sear'd on it then, could fade.
They have no cause !-Go, ask the streams

That by my paths have swept,
The red waves that unstain'd were born

How hath my faith been kept?

And other eyes are on my soul,

That never, never close,
The sad, sweet glances of the lost -

They leave me no repose.