Part 11 (1/2)

[Transcriber's note: The original text referred to the ”Louirville Journal” (clearly an erratum).]

My Father! Orphan lips unknown To love's sweet uses sob the word My father! dim with anguish, heard In Heaven between a storm of moan And the white calm that faith hath fixed For solace, far beyond the world, Where, all our starry dreams unfurled, We drink the wine of peace unmixed.

Mine! folded in the awful trust That draws the world's face down in awe, Holding her breath, as if she saw G.o.d's secret written in the dust-- My father! oh, the dreary years The dreary winds have wailed across Since his path, from the hills of loss, Wound, s.h.i.+ning, o'er the golden spheres.

What time the Angel at our door Said soft, between our orphan-moan-- Arise! oh, soul! the night is done And day hath bloomed forevermore!

I locked my icy hand across My sobbing heart and sadly cried-- I lose thee in the glorified-- The world is darkened with my loss!

Oh, Angel! cried I--wrath complete!

With awful brows and eyes intense!

(For faith's white robe of reverence Slid noiseless to my sorrow's feet) Oh, Angel, help me out of strife!

I could have borne all mortal pain-- I could have lived my life in vain-- But this hath touched my inner life!

And eighteen hundred fifty-seven Hath filled a decade of slow years Since first my orphan cries and tears Broke wild across the walls of Heaven.

This eve his grave is winter-white!

And 'twixt the snow-wind's stormy thrills I hear across the Northern hills The solemn footsteps of the night!

Blow wind! Oh, wind, blow wild and high!

Blow o'er the dismal s.p.a.ce of woods-- Blow down the roaring Northern floods And let the dreary day go by!

Blow, wind, from out the s.h.i.+ning West, And wrap the hazy world in glow-- Blow wind and drift about my snow The summer of his endless rest!

For he has fallen fast asleep And cannot give me moan for moan-- My heart is heavy as a stone And there is no one left to weep!

My _soul_ is heavy and doth lie Reaching up from my wretchedness-- Reaching up blindly for redress The stern gray walls of ent.i.ty!

Once in the golden spring-time hours, In the sweet garden of my youth, There fell a seed of bitter truth That sprang and shadowed all the flowers-- Alone! The roses died apace And pale the mournful violet blew-- Only the royal lily grew And glorified the lonesome place!

In me the growth of human ills Than human love had reached no higher, But Seraphim with lips of fire Have won me to the s.h.i.+ning hills-- I cannot hide my soul in art-- I cannot mend my life's defect-- This thunderous s.p.a.ce of intellect G.o.d gave me for a peaceful heart!

Hus.h.!.+ oh, my mournful heart, be still, The heavy night is coming on, But heavier lie the shadows drawn About his grave so low and chill-- From out the awful sphere of G.o.d, Oh, deathly wind, blow soft and low!

My soul is weary and would go Where never foot of mortal trod!

AT THE NIGHTFALL.

I muse alone in the fading light, Where the mournful winds forever Sweep down from the dim old hills of night, Like the wail of a haunted river.

Alone! by the grave of a buried love, The ghostly mist is parted, Where the stars s.h.i.+ne faint in the blue above, Like the smile of the broken-hearted.

The living turn from my fond embrace, As if no love were needed; The tears I wept on thy young dead face Were never more unheeded

Than my wild prayer for peace unwon-- One pure affection only, One faithful heart to lean upon, When life is sad and lonely.

The low gra.s.sy roof, my glorious dead, Is bright with the b.u.t.tercup's blossom, And the night-blooming roses burn dimly and red On the green sod that covers thy bosom.

Thy pale hands are folded, oh beautiful saint, Like lily-buds chilly and dew-wet, And the smile on thy lip is as solemn and faint As the beams of a norland sunset.