Poems of Henry Timrod [28]
was a brief, quick motion like a bird's, And the boy's thought thus rippled into words:
XI
"O mother! thou hast taught me many things, But none I think more beautiful than speech -- A nobler power than even those broad wings I used to pray for, when I longed to reach That distant peak which on our vale looks down, And wears the star of evening for a crown.
XII
"But, mother, while our human words are rife To us with meaning, other sounds there be Which seem, and are, the language of a life Around, yet unlike ours: winds talk; the sea Murmurs articulately, and the sky Listens, and answers, though inaudibly.
XIII
"By stream and spring, in glades and woodlands lone, Beside our very cot I've gathered flowers Inscribed with signs and characters unknown; But the frail scrolls still baffle all my powers: What is this language and where is the key That opes its weird and wondrous mystery?
XIV
"The forests know it, and the mountains know, And it is written in the sunset's dyes; A revelation to the world below Is daily going on before our eyes; And, but for sinful thoughts, I do not doubt That we could spell the thrilling secret out.
XV
"O mother! somewhere on this lovely earth I lived, and understood that mystic tongue, But, for some reason, to my second birth Only the dullest memories have clung, Like that fair tree that even while blossoming Keeps the dead berries of a former spring.
XVI
"Who shall put life in these? -- my nightly dreams Some teacher of supernal powers foretell; A fair and stately shape appears, which seems Bright with all truth; and once, in a dark dell Within the forest, unto me there came A voice that must be hers, which called my name."
XVII
Puzzled and frightened, wondering more and more, The mother heard, but did not comprehend; "So early dallying with forbidden lore! Oh, what will chance, and wherein will it end? My child! my child!" she caught him to her breast, "Oh, let me kiss these wildering thoughts to rest!
XVIII
"They cannot come from God, who freely gives All that we need to have, or ought to know; Beware, my son! some evil influence strives To grieve thy parents, and to work thee woe; Alas! the vision I misunderstood! It could not be an angel fair and good."
XIX
And then, in low and tremulous tones, she told The story of his birth-night; the boy's eyes, As the wild tale went on, were bright and bold, With a weird look that did not seem surprise: "Perhaps," he said, "this lady and her elves Will one day come, and take me to themselves."
XX
"And wouldst thou leave us?" "Dearest mother, no! Hush! I will check these thoughts that give thee pain; Or, if they flow, as they perchance must flow, At least I will not utter them again; Hark! didst thou hear a voice like many streams? Mother! it is the spirit of my dreams!"
XXI
Thenceforth, whatever impulse stirred below, In the deep heart beneath that childish breast, Those lips were sealed, and though the eye would glow, Yet the brow wore an air of perfect rest; Cheerful, content, with calm though strong control He shut the temple-portals of his soul.
XXII
And when too restlessly the mighty throng Of fancies woke within his teeming mind, All silently they formed in glorious song, And floated off unheard, and undivined, Perchance not lost -- with many a voiceless prayer They reached the sky, and found some record there.
XXIII
Softly and swiftly sped the quiet days; The thoughtful boy has blossomed into youth, And still no maiden would have feared his gaze, And still his brow was noble with the truth: Yet, though he masks the pain with pious art, There burns a restless fever in his heart.
XXIV
A childish dream is now a deathless need Which drives him to far hills and distant wilds; The solemn faith and fervor of his creed Bold as a martyr's, simple as a child's; The eagle knew him as she knew the blast, And the deer did not flee him as he passed.
XXV
But gentle even in his wildest
XI
"O mother! thou hast taught me many things, But none I think more beautiful than speech -- A nobler power than even those broad wings I used to pray for, when I longed to reach That distant peak which on our vale looks down, And wears the star of evening for a crown.
XII
"But, mother, while our human words are rife To us with meaning, other sounds there be Which seem, and are, the language of a life Around, yet unlike ours: winds talk; the sea Murmurs articulately, and the sky Listens, and answers, though inaudibly.
XIII
"By stream and spring, in glades and woodlands lone, Beside our very cot I've gathered flowers Inscribed with signs and characters unknown; But the frail scrolls still baffle all my powers: What is this language and where is the key That opes its weird and wondrous mystery?
XIV
"The forests know it, and the mountains know, And it is written in the sunset's dyes; A revelation to the world below Is daily going on before our eyes; And, but for sinful thoughts, I do not doubt That we could spell the thrilling secret out.
XV
"O mother! somewhere on this lovely earth I lived, and understood that mystic tongue, But, for some reason, to my second birth Only the dullest memories have clung, Like that fair tree that even while blossoming Keeps the dead berries of a former spring.
XVI
"Who shall put life in these? -- my nightly dreams Some teacher of supernal powers foretell; A fair and stately shape appears, which seems Bright with all truth; and once, in a dark dell Within the forest, unto me there came A voice that must be hers, which called my name."
XVII
Puzzled and frightened, wondering more and more, The mother heard, but did not comprehend; "So early dallying with forbidden lore! Oh, what will chance, and wherein will it end? My child! my child!" she caught him to her breast, "Oh, let me kiss these wildering thoughts to rest!
XVIII
"They cannot come from God, who freely gives All that we need to have, or ought to know; Beware, my son! some evil influence strives To grieve thy parents, and to work thee woe; Alas! the vision I misunderstood! It could not be an angel fair and good."
XIX
And then, in low and tremulous tones, she told The story of his birth-night; the boy's eyes, As the wild tale went on, were bright and bold, With a weird look that did not seem surprise: "Perhaps," he said, "this lady and her elves Will one day come, and take me to themselves."
XX
"And wouldst thou leave us?" "Dearest mother, no! Hush! I will check these thoughts that give thee pain; Or, if they flow, as they perchance must flow, At least I will not utter them again; Hark! didst thou hear a voice like many streams? Mother! it is the spirit of my dreams!"
XXI
Thenceforth, whatever impulse stirred below, In the deep heart beneath that childish breast, Those lips were sealed, and though the eye would glow, Yet the brow wore an air of perfect rest; Cheerful, content, with calm though strong control He shut the temple-portals of his soul.
XXII
And when too restlessly the mighty throng Of fancies woke within his teeming mind, All silently they formed in glorious song, And floated off unheard, and undivined, Perchance not lost -- with many a voiceless prayer They reached the sky, and found some record there.
XXIII
Softly and swiftly sped the quiet days; The thoughtful boy has blossomed into youth, And still no maiden would have feared his gaze, And still his brow was noble with the truth: Yet, though he masks the pain with pious art, There burns a restless fever in his heart.
XXIV
A childish dream is now a deathless need Which drives him to far hills and distant wilds; The solemn faith and fervor of his creed Bold as a martyr's, simple as a child's; The eagle knew him as she knew the blast, And the deer did not flee him as he passed.
XXV
But gentle even in his wildest