Poems (Chitwood)/The Deserter

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

For works with similar titles, see The Deserter.

THE DESERTER.

"Did she breathe a prayer for me?
 Speak my name when dying?"
Yes: while snows were on the roof,
 And the winds were crying,
Shone her fading eyes with love,
 As if light were sliding
From the rainbow arch above,
 Heaven and earth dividing.
Then she breathed a prayer for thee,
 Low, and soft, and tender,
In a tone like some sweet lute,
 Light, and sweet, and slender.

"Did she whisper of the past?
 Did it thrill her dying?"
Yes: thy babe, in gentle sleep.
 On her breast was lying:
"Bring," she said, "my wedding veil,
 Bring me every token,
Every link of that sweet chain.
 By the rum-fiend broken."
Then her voice grew weak and low,
 While the tears were streaming;
 "Tell him, I have loved him so,"
 Said she, as if dreaming.

"Did she miss me? Did she seek
 For my kiss in dying?"
Yes: when drops of chilly dew,
 On her brow were lying,
Said she, "Would that he were here;
 Would that I might bless him;
Tell him, I was constant yet,
 Fain would now caress him
Tell him that through every ill,
 Till my life was over,
I did love him, as when first
 I had called him lover."

"Tell me," said the wretched man,
 "Every word she uttered,
While her heart, like prisoned bird,
 In its meshes fluttered;—
Spake she of a cottage home,
 By a sunny river?
Of a dell, where vows were said
 Binding loved ones ever?
Of the gleaming gates of pearl,
 Where no ties are broken,
And the words of tears and death
 Never more are spoken?

"Did she speak of no hard word,
 Of no blow, in dying?"
No: she said, "He loved me once;
 Would that I were lying
With my head where I could hear
 His dear heart a throbbing."
Then her voice grew indistinct,
 Very low, and sobbing,
And the baby's lips she kissed.
 As it smiled in sleeping;—
Angels bore her to the rest
 Where there's no more weeping.