424
POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
My fault was that: I've told you so before,
And vainly told; but now 'tis something more.
Say, is it right, without a single friend,
Without advice, to leave me to attend
Children and mother both? Indeed, I've thought
Through want of you the child her fever caught.
Chances of mischief come with every hour.
It is not in a single woman's power
Alone, and ever haunted more or less
With anxious thoughts of you and your distress,—
'Tis not indeed, I'm sure of it, in me,—
All things with perfect judgment to foresee.
This weight has grown too heavy to endure;
And you, I tell you now, and I am sure,
Neglect your duty both to God and man
Persisting thus in your unnatural plan.
This feeling you must conquer, for you can.
And after all, you know we are but dust,
What are we, in ourselves that we should trust?'
He scarcely answered her; but he obtained
A longer leave, and quietly remained.
Slowly the child recovered, long was ill,
Long delicate, and he must watch her still
To give up seeing her he could not near,
To leave her less attended, did not dare.
The child recovered slowly, slowly too
Recovered he, and more familiar drew
Home's happy breath; and apprehension o'er,
Their former life he yielded to restore,
And to his mournful garret went no more.
And vainly told; but now 'tis something more.
Say, is it right, without a single friend,
Without advice, to leave me to attend
Children and mother both? Indeed, I've thought
Through want of you the child her fever caught.
Chances of mischief come with every hour.
It is not in a single woman's power
Alone, and ever haunted more or less
With anxious thoughts of you and your distress,—
'Tis not indeed, I'm sure of it, in me,—
All things with perfect judgment to foresee.
This weight has grown too heavy to endure;
And you, I tell you now, and I am sure,
Neglect your duty both to God and man
Persisting thus in your unnatural plan.
This feeling you must conquer, for you can.
And after all, you know we are but dust,
What are we, in ourselves that we should trust?'
He scarcely answered her; but he obtained
A longer leave, and quietly remained.
Slowly the child recovered, long was ill,
Long delicate, and he must watch her still
To give up seeing her he could not near,
To leave her less attended, did not dare.
The child recovered slowly, slowly too
Recovered he, and more familiar drew
Home's happy breath; and apprehension o'er,
Their former life he yielded to restore,
And to his mournful garret went no more.
Midnight was dim and hazy overhead.
When the tale ended and we turned to bed.
When the tale ended and we turned to bed.
