There are many poems about duty, but not many about those who wait. And fear. To be absent from Ipswich in the ealry colonial time was to rely on one’s neighbours for protection, but duty bore Mr Bradshteet away from his wife.

Such it has always been.

A Letter to her Husband, absent upon Publick employment

My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life, nay more,
My joy, my Magazine of earthly store,
If two be one, as surely thou and I,
How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lye?
So many steps, head from the heart to sever
If but a neck, soon should we be together:
I like the earth this season, mourn in black,
My Sun is gone so far in’s Zodiack,
Whom whilst I ’joy’d, nor storms, nor frosts I felt,
His warmth such frigid colds did cause to melt.
My chilled limbs now nummed lye forlorn;
Return, return sweet Sol from Capricorn;
In this dead time, alas, what can I more
Then view those fruits which through thy heat I bore?
Which sweet contentment yield me for a space,
True living Pictures of their Fathers face.
O strange effect! now thou art Southward gone,
I weary grow, the tedious day so long;
But when thou Northward to me shalt return,
I wish my Sun may never set, but burn
Within the Cancer of my glowing breast,
The welcome house of him my dearest guest.
Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence,
Till natures sad decree shall call thee hence;
Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone,
I here, thou there, yet both but one.

Anne Bradstreet

I am attaching to this a folk song. It appears that it was collected in a collection of traditional songs and carols by a Lucy Broadwood, and she cites a labourer who sang it in 1898. But it is much older than that.

And yes, I’ve posted this before.

Some Tyrant Has Stolen My True Love Away
Some tyrant has stolen my true love away
And it’s why in old England no longer can stay.
I will cross the wide ocean all on my bare breast
For to search for my true love that I love the best.

And it’s when I’ve found out my joy and my delight
I will welcome her kindly by day and by night.
Here’s a health to all others that are loyal and just
Here’s confusion to the rivals that lives in distrust.

There’s Venus and Volum, they are both joined as one,
So keep yourselves single as you and I have done,
So keep yourselves single and constant I’ll retire
Unto her like some Venus that flourishes like fire.

The bugle shall speak and the serpent shall sing
There’ll be instruments of music for to make the valleys ring.
Oh the huntsman he shall holler and the hounds shall make their noise
For to fill my love’s heart with ten thousand bright joys.