Papers from Overlook House Part 5

Oh happy child! She also learned the love That places underneath her the strong arms Of Him who held the children when on earth, Journeying along his pathway to the cross.

She opened all her gentle Heaven-touched heart To all the unknown teachings of her home.

The wild-flower's beauty pa.s.sed into her thoughts, And as she gazed, and saw in earth and sky, In every form the love of G.o.d stream forth, She knew of beauty that could never fade.

For He, from whom these emanations came, Will never cease to be a G.o.d revealed.

Happy the child, for her fond parents both Had souls to kindle with her sympathies.

They learned anew with her the blessed love, Which makes the pure like children all their days.

With her pure mind repa.s.sed the former way, Their age and youth blended at once in her.

There was a small church in the little town Of Bristol, some miles distant, over which A loving pastor ruled with watchful care.

He came from England,--and but few had known That he was bishop, of that secret line Which Ken, and other loyalists prolonged, Prepared for any changes in the realm.

The good man loved his people at the ford.

The child's expanding mind had ample seals Of his kind guidance. From his store of books He culled the treasures for her thoughtful eye.

Another memorable influence, To add refining grace, came from the town.

One, whose sweet beauty threw a woman's charm Over a household, seeking health in air, That rustles forest leaves, that sweeps the fields, Came to their home, and was not useless there.

She threw round Ellen, in resplendent light, What Ellen knew before, in fainter day.

The lady was so true in all her grace, Such open nature, that the child, all heart, Could think, could love, could be as one with her.

How sad, that the refinement of the world, Should often be the cost of all that's true!

From the volcano's side the dreadful stream, That buried the great city, pressed its way, To every room of refuge. Prison ne'er Gave bondage like those dark and awful homes.

Around each form came the encrusting clay: Death at the moment. Dying ne'er so still.

In pa.s.sing ages all the form was gone: The dark clay held the shapes of what had been, And when the beauteous city was exhumed, Into those hollows, moulds of former life, They poured the plaster, and regained the form, Of men, or women, as they were at death.

So all that lives in nature, in the heart, Is often, living, buried by the world, By its dead stream. Dust only can remain.

And in its place the statue--outward all The form of beauty--the pretense of soul.

How the child basked in all her loveliness!

Unconscious, she was moulded day by day, Sweet buds that in her heart strove to unfold, Had waited for that sun. And Ellen saw Her mother in changed aspect. The soft charms Of her new friend, revealed at once in her, More of the woman's natural tenderness.

The gentle child, had not a single love For all the varied scenes of bank and stream-- And these to her were almost all the earth, But as each glory centered round her home.

If the descending sun threw down the light Tinged with the mellow hues of autumn leaves, Upon the waters till they shone as gold, And yet diminished not the million flames That burnt upon the trees, all unconsumed, It was to her a joy. But deeper joy Came with the thought, that all her eye surveyed, Was but a repet.i.tion of the scene, When her fond mother, at some former day, Had by her side blessed G.o.d for these his works.

And all the softest murmurs of the air Recalled her father's step, and his true voice.

Thus home entwined itself with every thought, As that great vine with all that wide-branched oak.

PART SECOND.

And in this quiet scene, the child grew up, To know not inequalities of lot, Of any rank dissevering man from man.

Once from the splendid coach, the city dame And her young daughter entered the Ford Inn.

As Ellen gazed upon the little one Whose eye recalled the dove, and then the gleam That morning threw upon her much loved waves, And on the tresses, like the chesnut fringe In full luxuriance, she came forth and stood With such a guileless, and admiring love, That tenderness was won. And then they strolled O'er Ellen's favorite haunts. She asked the child, Have you such waters, and such trees beside Your home far off? The little languid eye Gazed vacantly on all the beauty there, And then, as one who had not heard the words, And least of all could give forth a response To nature's loving call, even as it pa.s.sed To her, through Ellen's eyes, and Ellen's voice, And from her kindled soul,--she turned again, Absorbed in the small wagon which they drew, And to the stones they skimmed upon the stream.

Just for a brief s.p.a.ce, down there seemed to fall A veil between the two--a veil like night.

All Ellen's greater, deeper swell of tides Of soul, forever das.h.i.+ng on the cliffs On which mind's ocean-great forever beat Their swell of thunder, here could find no height That could reverberate. And yet her heart Was all too n.o.ble, high, serenely pure, Too Christ-taught ever thus to stand apart.

The tender gentleness, the laughing eye, The soul responsive to the moment's joy, The power to love, the softening sympathy With every bird or squirrel that appeared, Or rabbit, scarce afraid, with wondering eye, The love of parents, her sweet talk of friends, And above all, a heart to beat so true To all that One in heaven had said to her, Were most alluring powers. Ellen forgot Wherein they differed: And their souls then chimed As sounds of bells, blended in summer's wind.

So, as if sunbeams faltering on the bank, The cloud departing, creep o'er all the green, Her brightening interest rested on the child.

And when they parted at the bridge of logs, Though the child's dress was gorgeous, and the pomp Of city livery from the chariot shone, While the soft tear was in our Ellen's eye, There still dwelt all unknown in her sweet mind, All free from pride, the deep inspiring wish, That she could raise this merry-hearted one Above herself: and then there came the thought, Unconscious, causing sorrows--higher aims-- That the one gone was poor, and she was rich.

There was a loneliness, and so she sought Her mother; whose companions.h.i.+p was peace: Who ever won her to her wonted rest.

There is a poetry in many hearts Which only blends with thought through tenderness: It never comes as light within the mind Creating forms of beauty for itself.

It has an eye, and ear for all the world Can have of beauty. You will see it bend Over the cradle, sorrow o'er the grave.

It knows of every human tie below, The vast significance. Unto its G.o.d It renders homage, giving incense clouds To waft its adorations. By the cross, It hears the voice, "How holy all is here!"

It speaks deep mysteries, and yet the clue Is most apparent to the common mind.

Its sayings fall like ancient memories; We so accept them. Natures such as these Are often common-place, until the heart Is touched, and then the tones from gates of heaven.

Such are the blessed to brighten human life-- To give a glory to our earth-born thoughts-- To teach us how to act our deeds as kings, Which we might else perform as weary slaves.

They give us wings, not sandals, for the road Full of dry dust. And such the mother was.

So as we tell you of the child, there needs No voice to say, and such the woman was.

One day she sought her father in the field, Just before sunset, ready for his home.

And as they reached the rocks along the sh.o.r.e, Where the road turns, to meet the deep ravine, Nigh unto Farley, a faint cry for help Rang in their ears. It was a manly voice Grieving through pain. They turned aside, and found A stranger, who had fallen, as he leapt From out his boat. His fallen gun and dress Proclaimed the sportsman. Aid was soon at hand, And in their dwelling he found friends, and care.

Days past. His mother came, and soon she found He spake to Ellen, Ellen unto him; As they spake not to others. And it seemed, Such a perpetual reference in his talk, As if he had not now a single thought, Which had not been compared with thought of hers.

At first her pride was moved. And while she stood Irresolute, the spell was fixed: as when The power of spring thaws winter to itself.

She knew her son was worthy: and she knew Here, in the wide-world must he seek a wife.

And in due time she was his fair-haired wife.

They had a rural home across the stream.

Their lights at night answered the cheerful light Of her paternal home. Their winter's fires Mingled their gleam upon the dark night wave, Or on the ice. By summer's winds her voice Was wafted o'er the waters, as she sang: And loving hearers blessed her in their hearts.

Oh! what a joy, when in her arms they placed Her son--ah doomed to be her only born!

Her cup of happiness seemed now so full.

And then the Father, knowing all to come, Gave her more grace, and so she loved him more, And had no Idol. But, as days rolled on Such sorrow came, I scarce can tell the tale.

She saw her husband's manly strength all gone.

There was a withering tree, in the spring time, Which on the lawn, seemed struggling to a.s.sume The Autumn's hues amid the world's full green.

He faintly smiled, and said, "So do I fade."

Soon it was dead. He lingered slowly on.

Hopes came: hopes faded. From the early world 'Tis the same story. It was well for her, In this her sorrow, she had learned to weep In days of bliss, as she had read the page Which tells of Jesus bearing his own cross.

His mother came, but Ellen was repelled By the stern brow of one who met the shock And would not quail. That hard and iron will Was so unlike _her_ firmness. She was one Who had ruled abjects. Sorrow seemed a wrong.

The parting time drew near. And then as one Who asked as one gives law. "This little boy Should dwell with me. Thereby shall he attain All discipline to form the n.o.ble man.

Even as I made his Father what he was, So will I now, again, care for the child.

Let him with me. And he shall often come And visit you. This surely will be wise."

We need not say that Ellen too was firm.

A mother's love! In all the world a power, To educate as this! Could any wealth Of other learning recompense this loss!

Would this stern woman ripen in his heart Fruits, that angelic eyes beheld with joy?

"When the boy grew, at times she'd gladly send With thanks, the child to all this proffered care."

But now--to send him now! Why at the thought A darkness gathered over all the world.

From all things came a voice, "All, all alone, The husband is not--the child far away."