To the Author's Wife, Absent on a Visit

by Seba Smith

 
  Come home my dear Elizabeth;
     I'm sure could you but know
  The sadness of my lonely hours,
     You would not leave so.

  If love could not restrain you,
     Sure the kindness of your heart
  Would not allow that mine so long
     Should feel this aching smart.

  Like the dove that found no resting
     On the weary waters wide,
  I wander, but I find no rest
     Apart from thee, my bride.

  Yes bride I still must call thee,
     Though sixteen years have fled,
  Fraught with the ills and joys of life,
     Since the day that saw us wed.

  Yes bride I still must call thee,
     For still I feel thou art
  The morning light unto mine eyes,
     And the life-blood to my heart.

  Kind friends may be around me,
     With gentle words and tone,
  And all the light, gay world may smile,
     But still I am alone.

  The bright bird that you left me,
     Chirps often through the day,
  And his music but reminds me
     That you are far away.

  For your sake I will feed him
     With fresh seeds and with flowers,
  And his morning and his evening song
     Shall count my weary hours.

  And oft our little Edward
     Comes clinging to my knee,
  And says with loud and hearty laugh,
     'Dear Father, play with me.'

  And when I kiss his little cheek,
     His bright blue eyes look glad;
  And I talk with him and play with him,
      But still my heart is sad.

  My sun of life, Elizabeth,
     Hath passed its fervent noon;
  I feel the 'sear and yellow leaf'
     Will be upon me soon:---

  But though misfortunes press me,
     And the world be false and cold,
  Let thy love and presence bless me
     And I'll mind not growing old.

  And I'll mind not fortune's frowning,
     Nor the heartlessness of men,
  When I see thee home returning,
    Our abode to cheer again.