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Title: The Faithful Wife
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema [
More Titles by Alma-Tadema]
It was a banished chieftain
Returned from oversea,
And he saw his wife and children
Come smiling o'er the lea.
The moon had wrapped them in her beams,
The wind was in their hair,
Their feet that trod the wild bluebell
Were light as wings on air.
'O have you come to meet me, wife,
As you once did swear to do?
Full seven years have I been gone,
And was your word so true?'
He took her by the white cool hand
Where the golden rings shone gay;
He took her youngest on his arm
And joyful led the way.
'O fair are ye, my father's towers,
And sweet my garden dear:
God grant I never leave you more
Till Death o'ertake me here!'
The lights were burning in the hall,
As they sat them down to meat;
The pipers piped a merry tune
The while their lord did eat.
He looked to right, he looked to left,
And a happy man was he,
As he stroked the head of the good gre-hound
That stood beside his knee.
'O, I am weary, wife, my wife,
And the flames begin to pale;
Lead on, for I would sleep awhile
Before I tell my tale.'
She lifted the bright curtain
That led into her bower;
There came the tramp of parting feet
And silence held the tower.
'O wife, how long have I been gone?
The room smells of roses still--
O wife, our babes are very young,
Their limbs are cold and chill....'
She folded up their raiment small,
She smiled but said no word:
She laid her children in one bed,
Then came beside her lord.
He could not sleep, he could not wake,
But lay in silence there;
His dear wife held him by the hand,
He felt her wind-blown hair--
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
'Why must we sleep so soon?
The sun is hidden down below,
I still can see the moon.'
'Be quiet, be quiet, my little child,
And watch the moonbeams creep;
To-night you may not play about,
For your father lies asleep.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
'It is not time for bed!
Where have you put my little lid?
I cannot hide my head.'
'Lie still, lie still, my tiny child,
Your father dear is found:
We four shall never sleep again
In the dark and heavy mound.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
'How shall that ever be?
We may not bide in the light of day
To watch upon the lea.'
'No need, no need, my pretty child,
For your father dear has come;
We'll kiss him once, we'll kiss him twice,
Then seek our own far home.'
He heard them laugh with baby joy,
He felt their kisses sweet,
He heard the patter to the door
Of their unearthly feet....
He could not stir when she bent low
To kiss him on the lips--
He could not raise, to hold her fast,
His anguished finger-tips;
But his heart against her silent breast
Beat loud in wild despair--
He heard the swaying of her skirt,
And his soul leapt forth in prayer.
. . . . .
A shepherd rose to call his sheep
When the morning sky was gray;
The owl flew back to the ruined tower--
He led his flock that way.
And lo! amid the scattered stones
That the foe had strewn around,
He saw his long-lost chieftain lie
A corpse upon the ground.
A smile was on his breathless lips,
And he lay on the flowered sward,
Where his wife and babes had bled to death
Beneath a traitor's sword.
[The end]
Laurence Alma-Tadema's poem: Faithful Wife
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