With all that seamen needed or their wives As oft as needed Become the master of a larger craft, Thus Enoch in his heart determined all; Then first since Enoch's golden ring had girt Her finger, Annie fought against his will: Yet not with brawling opposition she, But manifold entreaties, many a tear, Many a sad kiss by day by night renew'd (Sure that all evil would come out of it) Besought him, supplicating, if he cared For her or his dear children, not to go. He not for his own self caring but her, Her and her children, let her plead in vain : So grieving held his will, and bore it thro'. For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend, Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand To fit their little streetward sitting-room With shelf and corner for the goods and stores. So all day long till Enoch's last at home, Shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe, -- having order'd all Almost as neat and close as Nature packs Her blossom or her seedling, paused; and he, Who needs would work for Annie to the last, Ascending tired, heavily slept till morn. And Enoch faced this morning of farewell Brightly and boldly. All his Annie's fears, Save, as his Annie's, were a laughter to him. Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man Bow'd himself down, and in that mystery Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God, Pray'd for a blessing on his wife and babes Whatever came to him: and then he said "Annie, this voyage by the grace of God Will bring fair weather yet to all of us. Keep a clean hearth and a clear fire for me, For I'll be back, my girl, before you know it." Then lightly rocking baby's cradle "and he, This pretty, puny, weakly little one, Nay for I love him all the better for it God bless him, he shall sit upon my knees And I will tell him tales of foreign parts, And make him merry, when I come home again. Come Annie, come, cheer up before I go." Him running on thus hopefully she heard, On providence and trust in Heaven, she heard, Musing on him that used to fill it for her, At length she spoke "O Enoch, you are wise; "Well then," said Enoch, “I shall look on yours. Annie, the ship I sail in passes here (He named the day) get you a seaman's glass, Spy out my face, and laugh at all your fears." But when the last of those last moments came, "Annie, my girl, cheer up, be comforted, Look to the babes, and till I come again, Keep everything shipshape, for I must go. And fear no more for me; or if you fear Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds. Is He not yonder in those uttermost Parts of the morning? if I flee to these Can I go from Him? and the sea is His, The sea is His: He made it." Enoch rose, Cast his strong arms about his drooping wife, After a night of feverous wakefulness, When Annie would have raised him Enoch said "Wake him not; let him sleep; how should the child Remember this ?" and kiss'd him in his cot. But Annie from her baby's forehead clipt A tiny curl, and gave it: this he kept His bundle, waved his hand, and went his way. She when the day, that Enoch mention'd, came, Borrow'd a glass, but all in vain: perhaps She could not fix the glass to suit her eye; Perhaps her eye was dim, hand tremulous; Ev'n to the last dip of the vanishing sail She watch'd it, and departed weeping for him; Then, tho' she mourn'd his absence as his grave, Set her sad will no less to chime with his, But throve not in her trade, not being bred To barter, nor compensating the want By shrewdness, neither capable of lies, Nor asking overmuch and taking less, And still foreboding "what would Enoch say ?" For more than once, in days of difficulty And pressure, had she sold her wares for less Than what she gave in buying what she sold : She fail'd and sadden'd knowing it; and thus, Expectant of that news which never came, Gain'd for her own a scanty sustenance, And lived a life of silent melancholy. Now the third child was sickly-born and grew Whether her business often call'd her from it, After a lingering, Like the caged bird escaping suddenly, In that same week when Annie buried it, Philip's true heart, which hunger'd for her peace (Since Enoch left he had not look'd upon her), Smote him, as having kept aloof so long. "Surely" said Philip "I may see her now, May be some little comfort;" therefore went, Paused for a moment at an inner door, He spoke the passion in her moan'd reply "I came to speak to you of what he wish'd, Enoch, your husband: I have ever said You chose the best among us a strong man: For where he fixt his heart he set his hand To do the thing he will'd and bore it thro'. And wherefore did he go this weary way, And leave you lonely? not to see the world For pleasure? nay, but for the wherewithal To give his babes a better bringing-up Than his had been, or yours: that was his wish. |