Columbia Phoenix

[Original.]

FROM A HOSPITAL TENT.

I.
Thou dost not come to clasp my brow,
Nor knowest thou of my anguish now--
The keen deep wound, the dread war-rest,
Sharp pain and more than mortal thirst:
The longings vain, that tear the breast,
And all that agony accursed;
That from the dream of home and thee,
Awakes to bid my raptures flee;
Else would'st thou, still most fond, forsake
The joys of home, whate'er they be,
And all my lonely hours partake,
And share the gloom and pain with me.

II.
This sweet conviction strengthens hope,
With doubt, and pain, and gloom, to cope;
For well I know thy loving breast
Would sleep not, did it dream that mine,
Now felt life's throb without its rest,
Still doomed in loneliness to pine;
Thou'd'st fly to soothe its care with thine--
To chafe the burning brow, and weave
Thy arms about the neck of care,
Two blest, where one perforce must grieve,
Its very worst of pangs to share.
'Tis from such holy sympathy,
The wounded soul springs up to brave,
The worst that threats humanity,
Clad--though the soothing may not save--
With that ennobling sense that knows,
Love ever nigh, with that blest art
Which asks not help, nor seeks repose,
And from sweet lips and loving eyes,
With tenderest fondness overflows,
The balm the bruise and soothe the smart;
And stay the pangs in soul and heart.

III.
How should I laugh at care--the pain
Of wounded form and aching brain,
With but thy hand upon my brow,
Thy blue eyes bending o'er me now.
And in mine ear that sweetest voice
That ever bade my soul rejoice
And how exult in spite of woe,
To watch those loving eyes o'erflow,
Because of sadness shown in mine--
How joy, though conscious of the doom,
If thou wast nigh amid the gloom,
The angel for the narrow room,
My hands still fondly clasped in thine;
My head upon thy breast--mine eyes
E'en as the failing lights depart,
Catching sweet life to glad the heart,
And every dear and blessing sign,
In love's last fondest glance from thine.

WERTER.