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Read Ebook: The Child at Home: The Principles of Filial Duty Familiarly Illustrated by Abbott John S C John Stevens Cabot
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Ebook has 457 lines and 46672 words, and 10 pages
THE LITTLE SALAMANDER
TO MARGOT
When I go free, I think 'twill be A night of stars and snow, And the wild fires of frost shall light My footsteps as I go; Nobody--nobody will be there With groping touch, or sight, To see me in my bush of hair Dance burning through the night.
THE LINNET
THE SUNKEN GARDEN
Speak not--whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower, Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh, Lean-stalked, purple lavender; Hides within her bosom, too, All her sorrows, bitter rue.
Breathe not--trespass not; Of this green and darkling spot, Latticed from the moon's beams, Perchance a distant dreamer dreams; Perchance upon its darkening air, The unseen ghosts of children fare, Faintly swinging, sway and sweep, Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep; While, unmoved, to watch and ward, 'Mid its gloomed and daisied sward, Stands with bowed and dewy head That one little leaden Lad.
THE RIDDLERS
'Thou solitary!' the Blackbird cried, 'I, from the happy Wren, Linnet and Blackcap, Woodlark, Thrush, Perched all upon a sweetbrier bush, Have come at cold of midnight-tide To ask thee, Why and when Grief smote thy heart so thou dost sing In solemn hush of evening, So sorrowfully, lovelorn Thing-- Nay, nay, not sing, but rave, but wail, Most melancholic Nightingale? Do not the dews of darkness steep All pinings of the day in sleep? Why, then, when rocked in starry nest We mutely couch, secure, at rest, Doth thy lone heart delight to make Music for sorrow's sake?'
A Moon was there. So still her beam, It seemed the whole world lay a-dream, Lulled by the watery sea. And from her leafy night-hung nook Upon this stranger soft did look The Nightingale: sighed he:--
''Tis strange, my friend; the Kingfisher But yestermorn conjured me here Out of his green and gold to say Why thou, in splendour of the noon, Wearest of colour but golden shoon, And else dost thee array In a most sombre suit of black? "Surely," he sighed, "some load of grief, Past all our thinking--and belief-- Must weigh upon his back!" Do, then, in turn, tell me, If joy Thy heart as well as voice employ, Why dost thou now, most Sable, shine In plumage woefuller far than mine? Thy silence is a sadder thing Than any dirge I sing!'
Thus then these two small birds, perched there, Breathed a strange riddle both did share Yet neither could expound. And we--who sing but as we can, In the small knowledge of a man-- Have we an answer found? Nay, some are happy whose delight Is hid even from themselves from sight; And some win peace who spend The skill of words to sweeten despair Of finding consolation where Life has but one dark end; Who, in rapt solitude, tell o'er A tale, as lovely as forlore, Into the midnight air.
MOONLIGHT
The far moon maketh lovers wise In her pale beauty trembling down, Lending curved cheeks, dark lips, dark eyes, A strangeness not their own. And, though they shut their lids to kiss, In starless darkness peace to win, Even on that secret world from this Her twilight enters in.
THE BLIND BOY
'I have no master,' said the Blind Boy, My mother, "Dame Venus," they do call; Cowled in this hood, she sent me begging For whate'er in pity may befall.
'Hard was her visage, me adjuring,-- "Have no fond mercy on the kind! Here be sharp arrows, bunched in quiver, Draw close ere striking--thou art blind."
'So stand I here, my woes entreating, In this dark alley, lest the Moon Point with her sparkling my barbed armoury, Shine on my silver-laced shoon.
'Oh, sir, unkind this Dame to me-ward; Of the salt billow was her birth.... In your sweet charity draw nearer The saddest rogue on Earth!'
THE QUARRY
And like a phantom through the glades, With tender breast aglow, The goddess in me laughed to hear Your horns a-roving go.
That though with captive limbs I lay, Stilled breath and vanquished eyes, He that hunts Love with horse and hound Hunts out his heart and eyes.
MRS. GRUNDY
'High-coifed, broad-browed, aged, suave yet grim, A large flat face, eyes keenly dim, Staring at nothing--that's me!--and yet, With a hate one could never, no, never forget...'
'This is my world, my garden, my home, Hither my father bade mother to come And bear me out of the dark into light, And happy I was in her tender sight.
'And then, thou frail flower, she died and went, Forgetting my pitiless banishment, And that Old Woman--an Aunt--she said, Came hither, lodged, fattened, and made her bed.
'Oh yes, thou most blessed, from Monday to Sunday Has lived on me, preyed on me, Mrs. Grundy: Called me, "dear Nephew"; on each of those chairs Has gloated in righteousness, heard my prayers.
'Why didst thou dare the thorns of the grove, Timidest trespasser, huntress of love? Now thou hast peeped, and now dost know What kind of creature is thine for foe.
'Not that she'll tear out thy innocent eyes, Poison thy mouth with deviltries. Watch thou, wait thou: soon will begin The guile of a voice: hark!...' 'Come in, Come in!'
THE TRYST
Flee into some forgotten night and be Of all dark long my moon-bright company: Beyond the rumour even of Paradise come, There, out of all remembrance, make our home: Seek we some close hid shadow for our lair, Hollowed by Noah's mouse beneath the chair Wherein the Omnipotent, in slumber bound, Nods till the piteous Trump of Judgment sound. Perchance Leviathan of the deep sea Would lease a lost mermaiden's grot to me, There of your beauty we would joyance make-- A music wistful for the sea-nymph's sake: Haply Elijah, o'er his spokes of fibre, Cresting steep Leo, or the heavenly Lyre, Spied, tranced in azure of inanest space, Some eyrie hostel, meet for human grace, Where two might happy be--just you and I-- Lost in the uttermost of Eternity.
Think! in Time's smallest clock's minutest beat Might there not rest be found for wandering feet? Or, 'twixt the sleep and wake of a Helen's dream, Silence wherein to sing love's requiem?
No, no. Nor earth, nor air, nor fire, nor deep Could lull poor mortal longingness asleep. Somewhere there Nothing is; and there lost Man Shall win what changeless vague of peace he can.
ALONE
The abode of the nightingale is bare, Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air, The fox howls from his frozen lair: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone: It is winter.
Once the pink cast a winy smell, The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell, Light in effulgence of beauty fell: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone: It is winter.
My candle a silent fire doth shed, Starry Orion hunts o'erhead; Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone; It is winter.
THE EMPTY HOUSE
See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! Not one trembling leaflet cries To that Watcher in the skies-- 'Remove, remove thy searching gaze, Innocent, of heaven's ways, Brood not, Moon, so wildly bright, On secrets hidden from sight.'
'Secrets,' sighs the night-wind, 'Vacancy is all I find; Every keyhole I have made Wail a summons, faint and sad, No voice ever answers me, Only vacancy.' 'Once, once...' the cricket shrills, And far and near the quiet fills With its tiny voice, and then Hush falls again.
Mute shadows creeping slow Mark how the hours go. Every stone is mouldering slow. And the least winds that blow Some minutest atom shake, Some fretting ruin make In roof and walls. How black it is Beneath these thick-boughed trees!
MISTRESS FELL
'Many his like, Mistress Fell?' 'I did not look, so cannot tell. Only this I surely know, When his voice called me, I must go; Touched me his fingers, and my heart Leapt at the sweet pain's smart.'
'Why did he leave you, Mistress Fell?' 'Magic laid its dreary spell.-- Stranger, he was fast asleep; Into his dream I tried to creep; Called his name, soft was my cry: He answered--not one sigh.
'The flower and the thorn are here; Falleth the night-dew, cold and clear; Out of her bower the bird replies, Mocking the dark with ecstasies, See how the earth's green grass doth grow, Praising what sleeps below!
'Thus have they told me. And I come, As flies the wounded wild-bird home. Not tears I give; but all that he Clasped in his arms, sweet charity; All that he loved--to him I bring For a close whispering.'
THE GHOST
'Who knocks?' 'I, who was beautiful, Beyond all dreams to restore, I, from the roots of the dark thorn am hither, And knock on the door.'
'Who speaks?' 'I--once was my speech Sweet as the bird's on the air. When echo lurks by the waters to heed; 'Tis I speak thee fair.'
'Dark is the hour!' 'Ay, and cold.' 'Lone is my house.' 'Ah, but mine?' 'Sight, touch, lips, eyes yearned in vain.' 'Long dead these to thine...
Silence. Still faint on the porch Brake the flames of the stars. In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand Over keys, bolts, and bars.
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