 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
38
THE STREAMLET.
Lately in the songless gloaming
Of a sunny winter day,
Strolled I by a stream that, nameless—
Free from finny tribes, and fameless—
Wandered on its Clydeward way.
Of a sunny winter day,
Strolled I by a stream that, nameless—
Free from finny tribes, and fameless—
Wandered on its Clydeward way.
Vacantly its windings tracing,
From its freshness nought I sought—
Nothing wished in verse to treasure;
Love, or hate, or care, or pleasure,
Won or craved no passing thought.
From its freshness nought I sought—
Nothing wished in verse to treasure;
Love, or hate, or care, or pleasure,
Won or craved no passing thought.
Like a lullaby its music
Rose beside me, and my soul,
To resist its spell unarmoured,
Scarcely hearing that it murmured,
Yielded to its soft control.
Rose beside me, and my soul,
To resist its spell unarmoured,
Scarcely hearing that it murmured,
Yielded to its soft control.
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Like a dreamless midnight slumber,
Fruitless, passed the flying hour;
Memory kept her lamp extinguished,
Fancy, for the hour, relinquished
All its world-creating power.
Fruitless, passed the flying hour;
Memory kept her lamp extinguished,
Fancy, for the hour, relinquished
All its world-creating power.
Nought I of the young moon's presence
Nor the first star's rising knew,
Till a robin, like a spirit—
I could less observe than hear it—
Close before me flitting flew.
Nor the first star's rising knew,
Till a robin, like a spirit—
I could less observe than hear it—
Close before me flitting flew.
Suddenly the darkness deepened,
Presence to the moon was given,
Night's first star was twinkling o'er me,
Burning mine-heaps glared before me
On the knowes, like Mars in heaven.
Presence to the moon was given,
Night's first star was twinkling o'er me,
Burning mine-heaps glared before me
On the knowes, like Mars in heaven.
Trees that slept as erst I passed them,
Now to graceful wavings stirred,
For my reverie was broken—
Some all-potent charm was spoken
In the flitting of that bird.
Now to graceful wavings stirred,
For my reverie was broken—
Some all-potent charm was spoken
In the flitting of that bird.
40
And the stream itself, how altered!
Full of life it onward dashed,
Music mingled with its wimple,
Moons and stars in every dimple
Broke and shimmered, danced and flashed.
Full of life it onward dashed,
Music mingled with its wimple,
Moons and stars in every dimple
Broke and shimmered, danced and flashed.
“In its babble there's a sermon,”
Muttered I, and straight began,
Nothing of my folly weening,
Something of its hidden meaning
To interpret, as it ran.
Muttered I, and straight began,
Nothing of my folly weening,
Something of its hidden meaning
To interpret, as it ran.
Pausing oft, intently listening,
All my wits to work were thrown;
But the language of its streaming,
Though of most familiar seeming,
Was to me a thing unknown.
All my wits to work were thrown;
But the language of its streaming,
Though of most familiar seeming,
Was to me a thing unknown.
Yet the low and dreamy murmur
Of its dimly rippling flow,
And the whisper of its laving,
Round the last year's rushes waving
In the shadow, to and fro,
Of its dimly rippling flow,
And the whisper of its laving,
Round the last year's rushes waving
In the shadow, to and fro,
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Would not from my thoughts be driven—
Would like human sayings seem,
Though the language of its streaming
Did not seem so much the dreaming
As the reading of a dream.
Would like human sayings seem,
Though the language of its streaming
Did not seem so much the dreaming
As the reading of a dream.
“Yes,” I said, “there is a sermon
Uttered in its gentle roll;
But I must interpret poorly,
For the strange-tongued talker surely
Speaks the promptings of my soul.”
Uttered in its gentle roll;
But I must interpret poorly,
For the strange-tongued talker surely
Speaks the promptings of my soul.”
Then away my memory wandered
Slowly, far along the past;
Boyhood ventures and achievements,
Manhood's troubles and bereavements,
Came before me crowding fast.
Slowly, far along the past;
Boyhood ventures and achievements,
Manhood's troubles and bereavements,
Came before me crowding fast.
And the while my memory travelled
Early love and joys among,
Lo! the stream a lyric quoted—
Syllables and rhymes I noted—
And I knew the song it sung.
Early love and joys among,
Lo! the stream a lyric quoted—
Syllables and rhymes I noted—
And I knew the song it sung.
42
Never was there such a preacher!
Now my soul was filled with glee;
Smitten now with fear and wonder,
When aloud it seemed to thunder
Things but known to Heaven and me.
Now my soul was filled with glee;
Smitten now with fear and wonder,
When aloud it seemed to thunder
Things but known to Heaven and me.
Now 'tis an accusing spirit,
Torturing while it holds in thrall—
Like an angry eye it glistens,
No delightful reminiscence
Suffering memory to recall;
Torturing while it holds in thrall—
Like an angry eye it glistens,
No delightful reminiscence
Suffering memory to recall;
Now a flattering nymph, my merits
Telling o'er with Siren art—
Could a meed so sweetly numbered
Leave asleep the pride that slumbered
Cloaked and hidden in my heart?
Telling o'er with Siren art—
Could a meed so sweetly numbered
Leave asleep the pride that slumbered
Cloaked and hidden in my heart?
Now while round its boulders rushing,
Witch-like, in my ears it dinned
Thoughts of suicide once uttered,
Curses deep in madness muttered,
Tales of sins in secret sinned;
Witch-like, in my ears it dinned
Thoughts of suicide once uttered,
Curses deep in madness muttered,
Tales of sins in secret sinned;
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Feelings nourished in the struggle
For existence, o'er it conned;
“Mine's a care that has no waning,
Sin is not in my complaining,”
Like a weary slave it groaned.
For existence, o'er it conned;
“Mine's a care that has no waning,
Sin is not in my complaining,”
Like a weary slave it groaned.
Then, while with an almost voiceless
Motion gliding underneath,
Budless brambles o'er it bending,
From its breast there seemed ascending
Wailings of decay and death.
Motion gliding underneath,
Budless brambles o'er it bending,
From its breast there seemed ascending
Wailings of decay and death.
Lispings of long-silent voices
Thrilled me; and four names most dear
(Whispered low in anguished falter),
Agnes, Mary, Catherine, Walter,
In its murmur I could hear.
Thrilled me; and four names most dear
(Whispered low in anguished falter),
Agnes, Mary, Catherine, Walter,
In its murmur I could hear.
Then where rounded pebbles glistened,
Scarcely covered in the stream,
All its sweetly murmured story
Was of love, and hope, and glory,
Brighter than the brightest dream.
Scarcely covered in the stream,
All its sweetly murmured story
Was of love, and hope, and glory,
Brighter than the brightest dream.
44
Musing as I homeward hasted
Through Garscadden's flowerless vales,
This appeared a truth the surest—
They whose hearts and lives are purest,
Hear from streams the sweetest tales.
Through Garscadden's flowerless vales,
This appeared a truth the surest—
They whose hearts and lives are purest,
Hear from streams the sweetest tales.
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