The Wife

She stood beside him, in the spring tideAs Written:spring-tide hour Of love and joy — when Hymen led the train Of dancing graces, and devotion's power, Knelt with its freshness at a holy shrine; Till life so bright, so beautiful would seem, No cheating fantasy or pleasing dream.

With woman's hidden trust, withstood the shock, Of severing link, by link, the golden chain Of friendship,— as the flower droops To part it from its parent stem; Yet to sweet home the trusting heart could tell, "All soon must end in one wild word, farewell."Editorial Note: This is a quotation from “The Corsair” by George Gordon Byron (Lord Byron).

Nor lightly spoken, still the vision fled- Of joys ephemeral, childhood's halcyon hours; So fully, freely, was the spirit wed To noble gentleness, and virtue's power; Nor dreamed like blossoms of the woody glade The brightest flowers of human nature fade.

Brief was the interval– too brief Alas; Since joys had ripened in a foreign land; When clouds portentous, gathering thick and fast At stern adversity's unheard command; Swept o'er the unconscious, the devoted wife, And reason tottered with the spirit's strife.

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She stood beside him! o'er whose marble brow, Hope smiled triumphant on the couch of death; E'en as life's fleeting tide would ebb and flow Till shorter grew each faint, expiring breath– It beamed in gentleness and beauty there, As if to hush his weeping bride's low prayer.

Father she cried, then kissed his frozen clay! Send light and love back to these eyes again; Or with that parting breath, take mine away– O, partial grave! deny me not this boon, Let me repose beneath the valley's sod, Together, let our spirits rise to God-

Can this be death? O, speak to me but now- Thy cheek hath bloom! and I will call again- Waken the slumb'ring birds from the hushed boughs, And yet I feel, I know it would be vain; Alone, I linger where thy spirit's not Yet unforgetting, as I am forgot.

Behold! you sable hearse with nodding plumes– And list the church bell'sAs Written:church-bell's measured peal of woe, The distant murmurs of the muffled drum– Yon mystic band of brothersAs Written:brother's moving slow; Yet where was one whose anguish knew despair– The Wife, the stranger, echo answered where?

O, tis a picture shrined in memory's urn, The blight of years can dim it not– It lives in vain, yet tearless hopeless liveth on, Like the sepulchral lamp whose flame revives To shine o'er features whence the spirit's gone, Revealing specters of the joys we mourn.