Constancy
Charles Swain
| " It is -- it is the trumpet's note! -- |
| Bright Hope once more is mine! |
| I see the glorious banners float, |
| The martial weapons shine! |
| I hear, like an approaching storm, 5 |
| The warriors' heavy tread: |
| Albert! I seek in vain thy form: |
| O God! -- canst thou be dead? |
| "One -- bust one little moment more, |
| My heart forget to ache; 10 |
| That time hath blessed joys in store -- |
| Or griefs -- to bid thee break! |
| Long years, since our farewell, have past |
| In misery and in gloom; |
| And, oh! if it should prove our last, 15 |
| Welcome my shroud and tomb! |
| "Alas! How could I live -- yet know |
| That thou, my love, wert slain; |
| That, gash'd and cold, they noble brow |
| Lay on the battle-plain: 20 |
| That the fond voice, 't was bliss to hear, |
| In death had pass'd away: -- |
| O, Albert, haste -- or doubt and fear |
| Thy Genevieve will slay! |
| "Who calls? -- the wind my ear deceives -- 25 |
| Again -- 'tis from the grove -- |
| And, hark! -- a step among the leaves -- |
| 'Tis he! -- my life -- my love! |
| O, welcome -- welcome -- to this breast, |
| Thou prized of all the most! -- 30 |
| This kiss -- these tears -- will speak the rest -- |
| Alas! I thought thee lost!" |
| "My own fond girl -- my graceful flower -- |
| My beautiful -- my pride -- |
| How have I long'd for this blest hour, 35 |
| When on the ocean wide! |
| And is, indeed, thy youthful heart |
| Still constant as my own? -- |
| Then we have met, no more to part; |
| To live for love alone! 40 |
| "O, I have many a tale to tell |
| Of woes and perils o'er; |
| Of fair and gallant youths that fell |
| Upon the Turkish shore! -- |
| Of dreadful battles on the land, 45 |
| And tempests on the sea; -- |
| Still saved, by Heaven's protecting hand, |
| My Genevieve -- for thee!" |
| "Yet thou look'st pale -- thine arm is bound -- |
| And faded is thine eye 50 |
| Ah me! I fear, from sight and sound, |
| Thou com'st but home -- to die! -- |
| But, no! -- I will not speak of this, |
| Nor keep one thought of pain; |
| This hour is one of soul-felt bliss, 55 |
| And many may remain! |
| "Behold our lovely cottage-home, |
| O, never will you meet, |
| In any land where'er you roam, |
| A spot more fair -- more sweet; 60 |
| Mother -- dear mother -- bless your child, |
| The news was false we learn'd; -- |
| God on our mutual prayers has smiled -- |
| Our Albert is return'd!" |
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