Martinsburg Gazette And Public Advertiser

POETRY.

The Neglected Wife.

J. C. Percival.

He comes not—I have watch'd the sun go down,
And yet he comes not—once it was not so,
He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow,
The while he holds his riot in the town.

Yet he will come and chide, and I shall weep;
And he will wake my infant from the sleep,
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.

O! how I love a mother's watch to keep
Over those sleeping eyes, that smile which cheers
My heart, tho' sunk in sorrow fixed and deep.

I had a husband once, who loved me—now
He never wears a frown upon his brow,
And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip,
As bees from laurel flowers poison sip;

But I cannot hate—O! there were hours,
When I could hang forever on his eye.
And time, who stole with silent swiftness by,
Strewed, as he hurried on, his path with flowers.

I loved him then—he loved me too—my heart
Still finds its fondness kindle if he smile:
The memory of our loves will ne'er depart;
And though he often stings me with a dart,
Venomed and barbed, and waste upon the vile
Caresses which his babe and mine should share;

Tho' he should spurn me, I will calmly bear
His madness—and should sickness come, and lay
Its paralyzing hand upon him, then
I would with kindness all my wrongs repay,
Until the penitent should weep and say
How injured and how faithful I had been.