Classic Poem

Sit still — a word — a breath may break
(As light airs stir a sleeping lake,)
The glassy calm that soothes my woes,
The sweet, the deep, the full repose.
O leave me not! for ever be
Thus, more than life itself to me!

Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel —
Give me thy hand that I may feel
The friend so true — so tried — so dear,
My heart's own chosen — indeed is near;
And check me not — this hour divine
Belongs to me — is fully mine.

'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside,
After long absence — wandering wide;
'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes,
A promise clear of stormless skies,
For faith and true love light the rays,
Which shine responsive to her gaze.

Aye, — well that single tear may fall;
Ten thousand might mine eyes recall,
Which from their lids, ran blinding fast,
In hours of grief, yet scarcely past,
Well may'st thou speak of love to me;
For, oh! most truly — I love thee!

Yet smile — for we are happy now.
Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow?
What say'st thou? " We must once again,
Ere long, be severed by the main? "
I knew not this — I deemed no more,
Thy step would err from Britain's shore.

" Duty commands? " 'Tis true — 'tis just;
Thy slightest word I wholly trust,
Nor by request, nor faintest sigh
Would I, to turn thy purpose, try;
But, William — hear my solemn vow —
Hear and confirm! — with thee I go.

" Distance and suffering, " did'st thou say?
" Danger by night, and toil by day? "
Oh, idle words, and vain are these;
Hear me! I cross with thee the seas.
Such risk as thou must meet and dare,
I — thy true wife — will duly share.

Passive, at home, I will not pine;
Thy toils — thy perils, shall be mine;
Grant this — and be hereafter paid
By a warm heart's devoted aid:
'Tis granted — with that yielding kiss,
Entered my soul unmingled bliss.

Thanks, William — thanks! thy love has joy,
Pure — undefiled with base alloy;
'Tis not a passion, false and blind,
Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind;
Worthy, I feel, art thou to be
Loved with my perfect energy.

This evening, now, shall sweetly flow,
Lit by our clear fire's happy glow;
And parting's peace-embittering fear,
Is warned, our hearts to come not near;
For fate admits my soul's decree,
In bliss or bale — to go with thee!