Poems (Osgood)/The Hour before the Duel

by Frances Sargent Osgood

THE HOUR BEFORE THE DUEL.

Too late—too late—ye steal before me,
 Fond thoughts of home, of love and joy
The wings of fate close darkening o'er
 Oh God! my wife! my boy!

My own sweet wife! I see thy face—
 Thy pure, young face upraised to mine,
Thy glossy ringlets' waving grace,
 Thy blush, thy smile divine!

Thy pleading eyes, that droop'd like flowers
 Beneath a cloud, when I was cold—
Oh! to win back the wasted hours,
 My brief life's lavish'd gold!

My child! my heart's own hope and pride,
 My dark-eyed, blooming, glorious boy!
Thou comest—Heaven! in mercy hide
 That gaze of thoughtless joy!

Yes, Honor! 'gainst thine idle name,
 A bubble that a breath may break,
To 'scape the knave's or fool's false blame,
 Their happiness I stake.

I yield to thee my hope, my love,
 Her life that yet in joy has smiled,
My peace on earth—my bliss above—
 Oh God! my wife and child!

I'll dream no more! I'll nerve my soul—
 Hurrah! the wild—the magic wine!
Fill up—fill high—the glorious bowl!
 Drown care in draughts divine!

The past—the future! hence, away!
 Fears,dreams, and doubts—my spirit's strife—
I dare not think, or feel, or pray—
 Oh God! my boy—my wife!