Him who, wounded for thy sake,
Scarce would thanks in guerdon take—
Speechless, though his heart might break.
Yea, thou didst, with laughing glance,
Bid him lead thee to the dance,
Bid him break for thee a lance.
Silently would he comply,
Or with half-averted eye
Watch thee gaily pass him by.
Yet he ever hovered near,
Lest the dawn of woe or fear,
Pain or trouble should appear.
Once in hour of sorest strife
For thy lord he risked his life.
Didst thou know it—thou the wife?
Once within the rushing river
Garments white an instant quiver,
'Twas thy child—a pause, a shiver.
All around in blank dismay
Watch her swiftly whirled away—
He won back the millstream's prey;
Placed her on the margent green,
Saw her maidens o'er her lean,
Parted ere his face was seen.
Death and life for thee were given,
For thy sake a heart was riven.
Was it hard—the yielded breath?
Harder far the living death.