The Dead Wife

Thrice turned she in her narrow bed,His tears disturbed her rest;She kissed the little babe that laySo still upon her breast.

“Dream well,” she said, “my daughter dear,Since I must leave you lone;Three times your father's piteous voiceDid make a grievous moan;

“Three times your father's bitter cryDid wake me from my sleep,So must I go and comfort himAnd bid him not to weep.”

Her fingers chill she did unlaceFrom off her breast so white;“Poor hands,” quoth she, “oft for his sakeYou toiled a weary night”

She stepped out from her grave so greenUpon her feet so slim,“Oft were you wounded on the roadWhere you did follow him.”

Lone went she up the long boreenWherein her love did dwell.And there she met a nut-brown maidShe once did love full well.

“Now God between us and all harm!”The maid she fearful cried;“I thought you slept within your grave,Your little babe beside.

“I thought you lay all glad in restWho now doth walk alone;What grief is on your soul, poor ghost,What wrong would you atone?”

“My many sins I do deplore,”The pale young ghost replied;“Yet would I sleep to-night full wellMy little babe beside.

“From Life's long road all weary IWould hold such sleeping blest,Save for the grief of one who mournsAnd will not let me rest—

“Save for the tears of one I lovedO'er all the world beside,Who held me close unto his breastAnd named me once his bride.

“I know, as no birds sing for me.He dreads the thrushes' song;Since I am lying in the dark.He thinks the day too long.

“And so I left my little babeAll lone in her cold bed,So I might draw him to my sideAnd dry the tears he shed;

“So I might bid him weep no more,But Heaven's pity take,That bade me forth to bring my dearFrom grief and lone heartbreak;

“Within the shadow of the tombIn one embrace to rest.My shoulder for his weary head.His babe upon my breast”

Now when the maiden all so paleThis piteous tale did hear,She loosed her braids of nut-brown hair,And dropped full oft a tear.

“Now go you back, poor ghost,” said she,“And may your sleep be sound;And grieve you naught for any manWho walks the upper ground.

“And do not wake for any soulWho on this earth doth live;For if your dear doth grieve him soreYou could not comfort give.

“For he doth weep the lone night throughAnd all the weary day.Since I unto his suit am coldAnd to his love say nay!”