Amen. May it prove-- This peace--what thou dost think it.
I must go; The horses wait for me. Now that I know He’s safe with God, the living claim my care.-- My mother--ah, full selfish was the love That made me leave her so; I could despair Of mine own self, if God were not so good, Long-suffering, and kind. O could I stay! But I must reach the train at break of day. I take my letters and the picture.--Should Your duties call you not so soon, oh wait, See his dear head laid low by careful hand, And say a prayer above the grave.
O Fate, How doth she innocently torture--rack My soul with hard realities! I stand And hear her talk of graves!--O God, the black, Damp earth over my darling!
Love, farewell! I kiss thee once.--Lady, you do not mind? It was but once. I would not seem unkind; I would not wound you needlessly.
O swell, Proud heart, to bursting, but gainsay her not!
I know full well that yours the harder lot, Dear lady; but, forgive me, he was mine Long, long before. It were too much to ask That I should not be glad his heart returned To me, his bride betrothed--to know he yearned For me before he died. I cannot mask My joy because you loved him too.
Nay, thine All joy that thou canst take; I would not rob Thee of one little hair’s-breadth.
THE MAIDEN (_laying her head on the pillow_).
Oh, farewell, My love! my love! my love! [_Weeps._
Child, do not sob. Come to me--let me hold you; who can tell, Perhaps he hears you, though so still. We’ll stand Together by his side--thus, hand-in-hand-- And gaze on his calm face.
Alas! and I must hasten. Kiss me, dear; Indeed, I love you now.
And I have tried To make you. [_They embrace.--Exit_ MAIDEN.
THE LADY (_throwing herself down beside the body_).
Wrapped in his cloak, they bore him forth at dawn, The soldier dead, dead in his gallant strength, Young manhood’s prime. The heavy fold withdrawn Showed his calm face; while all his rigid length Lay stiff beneath the covering, the feet Turned up to heaven like marble. Breezes played Soft in his curling hair, the fragrance sweet Of the wild-brier roses incense made, And one bird sang a chant. Yet recks it not, This quiet body going to its grave, Feet foremost, folded hands, if the storm rave Or the sun shine. Henceforth nor part nor lot Hath it with men--the tale is told, all’s o’er; Its place shall know its step, its voice, no more; Its memory shall pass away; its name, For all its evil or for all its worth, Whether bedecked with reverence or blame, Shall soon be clean forgotten.-- Earth to earth!