Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOR LIFE AND DEATH, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FOR LIFE AND DEATH, by                    
First Line: "'nought to be done,' - eh?"
Last Line: But still he died to save his bitterest foe
Subject(s): Death;murder; "dead, The;


"NOUGHT to be done," -- eh? It was that he said, --
The doctor, as you stopped him at the door?
Nay, never try to smile and shake thy head,
I could ha' told thee just as well afore.
I haven't lived these thirty year to want
Parsons or women telling what is nigh
When the pulse hovers, and the breath is scant,
And all grows dim before the glazing eye.

I felt that something gave, here, at my heart,
In that last tussle down there on the Scar;
Nay, never cry, fond lassie as thou art,
Thou wilt do fine without me -- better far.
Thou'st been a good and patient wife to me
Sin' that spring day, last year, when we were wed;
I never meant so cold and strange to be;
Come, and I'll tell thee. Sit here by my bed.

So, where the sunshine rests upon thy hair,
It shows almost as smooth and bright as hers
The girl I wooed in Dunkerque, over there --
Fie, how the thought the slackening life-blood stirs!
Oh, wild black eyes, so quick to flash and fill!
Oh, rich red lips, so ripe for kiss and vow!
Did not your spell work me enow of ill,
That ye must haunt and vex me even now?

I swore, as we drove out into the gale,
And staggering down mid-channel went the boat,
Never at Dunkerque pier to furl my sail,
While I and the old "Lion" kept afloat, --
The pier where she and her French lover laughed
At the poor, trusting fool, who had his due;
Quick though his hand flew to his keen knife's haft,
The English fist was yet more quick and true.

She and her beaten sweetheart, do they prate
Yet of her triumph? Let them, an they please.
I shall know nought about it, lying straight
Up on the headland, 'neath the tall fir-trees.
I wish I could ha' been content, my lass,
With thee, and thy blue eyes and quiet ways:
Thou hast thy bairn, and as the calm years pass
Thou wilt forget thy stormy April days.

Thou 'rt young and bonnie still, my wench. Thou 'lt make
A happy wife yet. Choose some quiet chap,
Who'll love the little 'un for thy sweet sake,
And bear thee to some inland home, mayhap.
We're rough and stern, we on the seaboard bred,
And can't forget, or smooth a rankling wound.
Come close; there's just one thing left to be said,
Before I'm dumb forever, and under ground.

Last night they watched the life-boat driven back,
The rocket battling vainly with the blast,
While the good bark, amid the roar and wrack,
Drove headlong -- struck, and lay there, hard and fast.
They neither saw nor heeded, as the flash
Of cold blue fire lit all, above, below,
The French flag flying o'er the whirl and crash,
"Louise, Dunkerque," the letters on her prow.

I saw, plunged, fought, and reached the sinking bark,
The old, hot poison fierce in every vein,
Seized on two sailors, shrieking in the dark,
Bore them to land, and turned to swim again.
Clasping the rigging yet one man I found;
I caught him, struggled on; the beach was near, --
"Louise," he gasped, and, 'mid the roar around,
I knew the voice last heard on Dunkerque pier.

The murderer's lust surged to the throbbing heart,
The murderer's cunning loosed the saving hand;
'T was but to let him go; I'd done my part --
Praised and avenged! Why, thus 't were well to land.
But she -- No cloud on her bright life should rest
An I could ward it; love and hate at strife
A moment, then, snatched from the breaker's crest,
I dragged him, stunned and bleeding, back to life.

Somehow I hurt myself, and so it's over,
And better so for all. Thou 'lt rear the lad
To make some Yorkshire lass an honest lover,
Nor tell him all the wrong his mother had;
And sometimes, -- for thou 'rt kind, -- when stars are out,
In the green country, where no tempests blow,
Thou 'lt say, "Thy father had his faults, no doubt,
But still he died to save his bitterest foe."





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