The Vaudois Wife

“Clasp me a little longer, on the brinkOf fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think--And let it mitigate thy woe’s excess--That thou hast been to me 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 see’st mine eye grow dim, beloved!Thou see’st my life-blood flow--Bow to the Chastener silently,And calmly let me go!A little while between our heartsThe shadowy gulf must lie,Yet have we for their communingStill, still Eternity!

Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,My spirit they detain;I know that from thine agonyIs wrung that burning rain.Best! kindest! weep not--make the pang,The bitter conflict less--Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy,To feel thy love’s excess!

But calm thee! let the thought of deathA solemn peace restore!The voice that must be silent soonWould speak to thee once more,That thou may’st bear its blessing onThrough years of after life--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 restThat e’er fond woman’s knew;

I bless thee, faithful friend and guide!For my own, my treasured shareIn the mournful secrets of thy soul,In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.

I bless thee for kind looks and wordsShower’d on my path like dew,For all the love in those deep eyes,A gladness ever new!For the voice which ne’er to mine repliedBut in kindly tones of cheer;For every spring of happinessMy soul hath tasted here!

I bless thee for the last rich boonWon from affection tried--The right to gaze on death with thee,To perish by thy side!And yet more for the glorious hopeEven to these moments given--Did not thy spirit ever liftThe trust of mine to heaven?

Now be thou strong! Oh, knew we notOur path must lead to this?A shadow and a trembling stillWere mingled with our bliss!We plighted our young hearts when stormsWere dark upon the sky,In full, deep knowledge of their taskTo suffer and to die!

Be strong! I leave the living voiceOf this, my martyr’d blood,With the thousand echoes of the hills,With the torrent’s foaming flood,--A spirit midst the caves to dwell,A token on the air,To rouse the valiant from repose,The fainting from despair.

Hear it, and bear thou on, my love!Ay, joyously endure!Our mountains must be altars yet,Inviolate and pure;There must our God be worshipp’d stillWith the worship of the free:Farewell!--there’s but one pang in death,One only,--leaving thee!

The wife of a Vaudois leader, in one of the attacks made on theProtestant hamlets, received a mortal wound, and died in her husband’sarms, exhorting him to courage and endurance.