"I am lonely-I am lonely! this rest is even as death! Let me hear again the ringing spears, and the battle-trumpet's breath; Let me see the fiery charger foam, and the royal banner wave But where art thou, my brother? where?-in thy low and early grave!" And louder swell'd the songs of joy through that victorious night, And faster flow'd the red wine forth, by the stars' and torches' light; But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the conqueror's moan "My brother! oh! my brother! best and bravest! thou art gone!" THE VAUDOIS' WIFE. 47 THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.' 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, 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! Bow to the chastener silently, And calmly let me go! 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 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 With the thousand echoes of the hills, 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 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. |