The Soldier's Bride To Her Husband, After His Escape From Imminent Danger Poem by Eliza Acton

I tremble at thy peril past!
It shakes me, like some fearful dream,
In horror's mould of madness cast,
To chill the warm heart's living stream.

I shudder but to view that fate,
Which would have rent my soul's last tie
To earth, and left me desolate,
Beyond all thought of agony.

Spar'd is the blow which would have left
Within the world no breathing thing,
So utterly of hope bereft,
So crush'd by loneliest suffering;

As she, who warmly grateful now,
Pours her best orisons to heav'n,
For life, to one belov'd as thou,
In danger sav'd-in mercy giv'n.

Oh! when the battle's rage is round,
Amidst the fearful strife,-for thee,
May that protecting aid be found,
Which now restores thee safe to me!

'Je vais te quitter ségour aimé!'
'TIS come!-the last pale ev'ning-close
Whose shade shall sink around me here;
And unto me its deep repose,
Brings many a wildly-gushing tear.

Nay, let me dash the drops away,
Which thus, in idle sorrow shed,
A soul un nerv'd, unstrung, betray ,-
Which droops-nor will be comforted.

My quiet home, farewell!-I go
Forth to the cold bleak world again,
A wanderer mid its scenes of woe,
To seek for sheltering peace in vain.

Oh! long my heart will warmly cling
To thee, as to some hallow'd spot,
Where falshood's deadly withering,
And life's stern storms were all forgot.

And some short moments wing'd with bliss,
Pass'd o'er my spirit, like a tone
Of the air-harp, when night-winds kiss
Its chords, to music wild and lone.

My cherish'd home a long farewell!
The pangs which on my bosom press,
As on that word I ling'ring dwell
Are rous'd to keenest wretchedness!