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. Ay,— 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 mayst 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 sayst thou?” We muse 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,” didst 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!
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