I can tell thee now,-for blessed are to me the thoughts that rise With those silent pilgrims yonder wending through the silent skies. Even thus amid the darkness, and the winds, the waves, the storm, Of my sin-sick soul, I pass'd one evening by an angel form. She had seen me sadly smile upon some children sporting by, And her heart was touch'd with pity—and a tear came in her eye: And she look'd upon me-spell-bound, I stood still and look'd on her, And a gleam of light fell glancing down the mists of things that were. Surely ne'er o'er human bosom came love in such tempest-kind; All my spirit's dark foundations heaved like waves beneath the wind. Often did I wrench the thought from out my bosom's core and cry, Never should my cloud-tost being cross that blue trans parent sky. But again she pass'd, and sighing-Jesus, it was all she said. Yet down, down into her heart-depths through bewildering tears I read "Thou art weary, way-worn, storm-tost-darker spots are on thy soul: "Jesus died-fear not, dear wanderer-storms must bend to His control." Oh, that word! I scarce had heard it since in music erst it fell From our sainted mother's lips, who breathed it as her last farewell. The dark thunder-clouds that long had risen with every rising day, Heard it, and were troubled-heard it, and began to break away. Bitter was the shame, and bitter were the first tears that I wept; Frequent still wild night-mare visions broke upon the sleep I slept : But at length the spring was heal'd, and gentle tears began to flow, And One whisper'd, "I have suffer'd-I have borne thy load of woe!" All the fabled lights of Reason seem'd like torch-flames tost and driven All its music was as discord to the melody of heaven. As I knelt and gazed (esteeming all the world beside but loss) On the one lone star that glimmer'd o'er my Saviour's silent cross. Brother, brother, canst thou wonder that, when peace began to brood Over those wild troubled waters of my spirit's solitude, I should turn and bless the angel who had shown that light divine? Blessing, see her-seeing, love her-win and bind her heart to mine? Shall I tell thee of the beauty of her sylph-like form and face, Such as sculptor's hands, entranced all the while, might love to trace? Of her soft dark tresses shading the swift blushes of her cheek? Of her clear and thoughtful forehead, sunlit like a cloudland peak? Of her gentle heaving bosom, heaving o'er her passionate heart? Of her soft blue eye that bound thee without thinking, without art But within whose cool deep fountain slept a thousand sunny rays? Tush! the world saw that, and often spoke thereof in heart less praise. No, I will not tell thee, brother, if I could for grief and tears Love is silent as the stars that love us in their voiceless spheres. Thus far only-she was ever, as she wander'd by my side, Like a rill of spirit-music flowing with ethereal tide Through my heart of hearts, and chasing all the discords lingering yet On the ruffled waves of life that could not in an hour forget. What, if on my holiest moments burst detested thoughts and vile, Like a breath the cloud was scatter'd with the magic of her Soon we parted-but that radiance pass'd not into mist or dreams, Haunting still deep mystic caverns with the light of moonlight streams: 3 Yes, we parted-but that music did not die upon mine ears, For its cycle hath no boundary, and its lordliness no peers. Thrice we met and thrice were sever'd, this the last sad farewell sound Ere earth's links should bind, we whisper'd, those Heaven had already bound. 'Twas a night of clouds and tempests sweeping through the void of black, Every sad blast through the forest given in sadder echoes back, Till they died among the cloisters with a melancholy cry But I shut my heart upon them, chased them ever as they rose, 3 "Listening the lordly music flowing on The illimitable years."-TENNYSON's Ode to Memory. |