Classic Poem

THE WIFE AND WIDOW.

I

I LEAVE Sophia ; it would please me well,
Before we part, on so much worth to dwell:
'Tis said of one who lived in times of strife,
There was no boyhood in his busy life;
Born to do all that mortal being can,
The thinking child became at once the man;
So this fair girl in early youth was led,
By reason strong in early youth, to wed.

In her new state her prudence was her guide,
And of experience well the place supplied;
With life's important business full in view,
She had no time for its amusements too;
She had no practised look man's heart t' allure,
No frown to kill him, and no smile to cure;
No art coquettish, nothing of the prude;
She was with strong yet simple sense endued,
Intent on duties, and resolved to shun
Nothing that ought to be, and could be, done.

A Captain's wife, with whom she long sustain'd
The toil of war, and in a camp remain'd;
Her husband wounded, with her child in arms,
She nursed them both, unheeded all alarms:
All useless terror in her soul supprest —
None could discern in hers a troubled breast.

Her wounded soldier is a prisoner made,
She hears, prepares, and is at once convey'd
Through hostile ranks: — with air sedate she goes,
And makes admiring friends of wondering foes.
Her dying husband to her care confides
Affairs perplex'd; she reasons, she decides;
If intricate her way, her walk discretion guides.

Home to her country she returns alone,
Her health decay'd, her child, her husband, gone;
There she in peace reposes, there resumes
Her female duties, and in rest reblooms;
She is not one at common ills to droop,
Nor to vain murmuring will her spirit stoop.

I leave her thus: her fortieth year is nigh,
She will not for another captain sigh;
Will not a young and gay lieutenant take,
Because 'tis pretty to reform a rake;
Yet she again may plight her widow'd hand,
Should love invite, or charity demand;
And make her days, although for duty's sake,
As sad as folly and mischance can make.

II

P. — L IVES yet the W IDOW , whose firm spirit bore ills unrepining? —

F. — Here she lives no more,
But where — I speak with some good people's leave —
Where all good works their due reward receive
Though what reward to our best works is due
I leave to them, — and will my tale pursue.

Again she married, to her husband's friend,
Whose wife was hers, whom going to attend,
As on her death-bed she, yet young, was laid,
The anxious parent took her hand and said,
" Prove now your love; let these poor infants be
As thine, and find a mother's love in thee! "

" And must I woo their father? " — " Nay, indeed,
He no encouragement but hope will need;
In hope too let me die, and think my wish decreed. "

The wife expires; the widow'd pair unite;
Their love was sober, and their prospect bright.
She train'd the children with a studious love,
That knew full well to encourage and reprove;
Nicely she dealt her praise and her disgrace,
Not harsh and not indulgent out of place,
Not to the forward partial — to the slow
All patient, waiting for the time to sow
The seeds that, suited to the soil, would grow.

Nor watch'd she less the Husband's weaker soul,
But learn'd to lead him who abhorr'd control,
Who thought a nursery, next a kitchen, best
To women suited, and she acquiesced;
She only begg'd to rule in small affairs,
And ease her wedded lord of common cares,
Till he at length thought every care was small,
Beneath his notice, and she had them all.
He on his throne the lawful monarch sate,
And she was by — the minister of state:
He gave assent, and he required no more,
But sign'd the act that she decreed before.

Again, her fates in other work decree
A mind so active should experienced be.

One of the name, who roved the world around,
At length had something of its treasures found,
And childless died, amid his goods and gain,
In-far Barbadoes on the western main.
His kinsman heard, and wish'd the wealth to share,
But had no mind to be transported there: —
" His wife could sail — her courage who could doubt? —
And she was not tormented with the gout "

She liked it not; but for his children's sake,
And for their father's, would the duty take.
Storms she encounter'd, ere she reach'd the shore,
And other storms when these were heard no more, —
The rage of lawyers forced to drop their prey, —
And once again to England made her way.
She found her Husband with his gout removed,
And a young nurse, most skilful and approved;
Whom — for he yet was weak — he urged to stay,
And nurse him while his consort was away: —

" She was so handy, so discreet, so nice,
As kind as comfort, though as cold as ice!
Else, " he assured his lady, " in no case,
So young a creature shoul'd have fill'd the place
It has been held — indeed, the point is clear,
" None are so deaf as those who will not hear: "
And, by the name good logic, we shall find,
" As those who will not see, are none so blind "
The thankful Wife repaid the attention shown,
But now would make the duty all her own.
Again the gout return'd; but seizing now
A vital part, would no relief allow.

The Husband died, but left a will that proved
He much respected whom he coolly loved.
All power was hers; nor yet was such her age,
But rivals strove her favour to engage:
They talk'd of love with so much warmth and zeal,
That they believed the woman's heart must feel;
Adding such praises of her worth beside,
As vanquish prudence oft by help of pride.

In vain! her heart was by discretion led —
She to the children of her Friend was wed;
These she establish'd in the world, and died,
In ease and hope, serene and satisfied.

And loves not man that woman who can charm
Life's grievous ills, and grief itself disarm? —
Who in his fears and troubles brings him aid,
And seldom is, and never seems afraid?

No! ask of man the fair one whom he loves,
You'll find her one of the desponding doves,
Who tender troubles as her portion brings,
And with them fondly to a husband clings —
Who never moves abroad, nor sits at home,
Without distress, past, present, or to come —
Who never walks the unfrequented street,
Without a dread that death and she shall meet:
At land, on water, she must guarded be,
Who sees the danger none besides her see,
And is determined by her cries to call
All men around her: she will have them all.

Man loves to think the tender being lives
But by the power that his protection gives:
He loves the feeble step, the plaintive tone,
And flies to help who cannot stand alone:
He think of propping elms, and clasping vines,
And in her weakness thinks her virtue shines;
On him not one of her desires is lost,
And he admires her for this care and cost.

But when afflictions come, when beauty dies,
Or sorrows vex the heart, or danger tries —
When time of trouble brings the daily care,
And gives of pain as much as he can bear —
'Tis then he wants, if not the helping hand,
At least a soothing temper, meek and bland —
He wants the heart that shares in his distress,
At least the kindness that would make it less;
And when instead he hears the eternal grief
For some light want, and not for his relief —
And when he hears the tender trembler sigh,
For some indulgence he can not supply —
When, in the midst of many a care, his " dear "
Would like a duchess at a ball appear —
And, while he feels a weight that wears him down,
Would see the prettiest sight in all the town, —
Love then departs, and if some Pity lives,
That Pity half despises, half forgives,
'Tis join'd with grief, is not from shame exempt,
And has a plenteous mixture of contempt.