Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1844-02-16
From the Democratic Review.
THE NEW WIFE AND THE OLD.

Its in New Eng land. 1t has, perhaps, NOR.
. its share of marvellous anccdole, in which
celebrated Gen. Nj a Yankee Faust
celebrated character. The legend versfi
,elow was related to Inc when a child, by
cradle family vstan'.
liampton'> woods are still tonight,
As yon spire which breaks the light
Of the hali-iaccd MOON No breeze
Bears the inurinur of the seas
From the long white beach or waves
Elm leaves DER the village graves.
From the brief dream of bride,
She hath Weakened M his side,
With haif-utered shrek and start
Feels she not his breathing hearth
And the pressure Of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm
Lightly from the bridal he'd
Strings that fair d!sheveled head;
And, feeling new, intense,
Half Of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder speaks,
Through her paited lips and cheeks.
From the oaksn mantel glowing
Fainiest hight the lamp is throwing.
On the mlrrois antique mould,
High backed chair and walnscoi old,
And. through faded cur'ains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.
Lislless lies The strong man there,
Silver. slreaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and naughty face
And that fDreheads knitted huught
Loves soft hand had not unwrought.
"Yes," she signs, he loves me well,
More than these calm lips will el
STOPPING 10 my owly state
He hath made me rich and great
And bless HIM though he be
Hard and stern 10 al save mel"
While she speaketh falls the light
Ger her fin ,ers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the tmld lusire fling
Loves selectest gifts and rare
His proud hand has fastened there.
Gratefully she marks the glow
From those 'apering lines of snow,
FOndly DER the sleeper bending,
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together press.
fla that start of horror Why
That wild stare and wider cry,
Fail of terror, full OF pain
Is there madness in her BRAN?
Hark! thu, grasplng hoarse and lows
Spare me-Spare ne-let me gU!
God have mercy Icy cold
Spectral hands her own eniold,
Drawing silently from them
Loves fair gifts Of gold and gem,
AWAKEN save me !''-stll! as death
A, her side he slumbereth.
Ring and bracelet all are gone,
And that ice-cold hand Withdrawn,
But she hears murmur low,
Full of sweetness, full Of wo,
Half sigh and half a moan:
Fear not Give the dead her own"
All the dead wlfe's voice she knows!
That cold hand whose pressure froze.
Once in warnest life had borne
Gem and band her own hath worn.
Wake thee Wake thee!' Lo, his eyes
Open with dull surprise.
In his arms the st rong man folds her,
Closer TO his breast he holds her;
Trembling limbs his own are meeting,
And he feels her hearts quick beating;
NAY, my dearest, why this fear ~
Hus!i! she saith, "lhe dead is here!"
"Nny, dream-an idle dream"
But before the lamps pale gleam
Trembhngly her hand she raises
There no more the diamond blazcs,
Clasp of pearl or ring Of gold,-
"Ah! !" She signs, " her hand was cold!'
Broken words and cheer saith,
But his dark lip quivere,h,
Aud as DER the Past he thinketh,
From his young wIte's arms he shrinketh;
Gan those soft arms round HIM lie,
Underneath his dead wlie's eye!
She her fair yong head can rest
Soothed and child lie on his breast,
And in trusriu innocence
Draw new strength and courage thence;
He, the proud man, feels within
But The cowardce Of Sin!
She can murHur in her thought
Simple prayers her mother taught,
And His blessed angels call,
Whose great love is over all;
He, alone, IN prayeress pride,
Meets the dark Past at his
She, who living shrank with dread,
From his look or word or tread,
Unto whom her early grave
Was as freedom to the slave,
Moves him at this midnight hour,
With the dead $ unconscious power!
All the dead, the unforgot!
From their solemn homes Of thought,
Where the cypress shadow blend
Darkly over foe and friend
Or in love or sad rebuke,
Back upon the living look.
And the tenderest ones and weakest,
Who their wrongs have borne the meekest
Lifting from those dark still places,
Sweet and remembered faces,
Der the guilty hearts behind
An unwilling triumph find