The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield ::

Thou! that in pangs didst give me mortal birth,
Nourish my helplessness at thy life's spring,
And bear me gently o'er the desert earth
Upon thy bosom till my thoughts took wing!
Thou! that in days of loneliest grief didst fling
The mornlight of thy smile, thy voice of joy
O'er my quick spirit, till each human thing
Glowed with the outbreaking glory of the sky,
And o'er the bosom gushed of thy devoted boy!

In pain and peril, when thy years were few,
And Death's vast shadow on thy pathway fell,
Thou to the greatness of thy trial grew,
Bade fortune, mirth and cherished hope farewell,
Resigned, for me, with sorrow long to dwell!
Thy sleepless eye my daring steps pursued,
Thy lone heart o'er my guarded couch did swell,
And o'er thy child's untrodden solitude
Thy thoughts like seraphs flew, the messengers of Good.

That harrowed brow, once smooth as Parian stone,
That hollow eye, erst filled with Love's own light,
Dimmed by the bloom through memory's temple thrown—
That pale cheek, writ in characters of night,
That wasted form, which, ere the hour of blight,
Stood proudly up in worshipped loveliness—
All to my soul reveal the charm and might
Of deathless Love, that dares unsoothed distress,
And to the shrine of Truth can guide, and shield and bless.

337

Should I forget the heart that never quailed,
Nor shrunk from fast and vigil for my sake:
Could I forget the faith that never failed,
The solitary star on youth's wild wake:
Justly my Maker from my soul would take
The hope that wings me to a heaven of light,
And leave me in the waste alone to slake
The deaththirst, burning through the mornless night,
Of the seared heart that loved not Love in its delight.

Bereaved of all that gave thy being bliss,
Save one unfortuned and unfriended child,
Without thy crown of gladness, and the kiss
Of wed affection cheering through the wild,
Thy spirit on my saddened seasons smiled;
Thou in my being didst condense thine own,
While poverty assailed and power beguiled,
And sickness made in solitude its moan—
And can I e'er forget what thou hast dared and done?

Can matin orison and vesper hymn,
Soaring when slept earth's dagon soul of guile,
E'er cease to thrill, while shades of sorrow swim,
Memory, whose thoughts with thine own look now smile?
Can twilight meadow and hushed temple aisle
Cease to enchant and hallow with their songs?
Or commune with wood, mount, vale, stream, the while,
Pass from my spirit 'mid the world's deep wrongs?
Thy wisdom triumphs o'er life's vain vindictive throngs.

Beauty in loneliness her image wrought
Within my wrapt unsolac'd bosom—thou
Ledst grandeur to the still throne of my thought,
And badst me drink heaven's waters from the brow
Of the hoar giant precipice! and now,
Albeit, men skill not to scan me right,
Thy lessons lead me, as by palmer vow,
Through trial, toil, hate, grief, the watching night,
Like them, whose desert guide was Sinai's holiest light.

338

Yet this is but a portion of my debt,
My Mother! thou amidst my foes hast stood,
As in his eyrie, when the air is jet
With wings of obscene birds and beaks of blood,
The eagle stands—lord of the solitude!
Their shafts have broken on thy bosom—thou
Hast grasped the arrows—struggled with the flood—
Borne more than all my sufferings, and liv'st now
To bear day's toil for me and those that round me grow.

And can this be forgotten? can I shrink
To brand the mortal demon who shall dare
To doubt thy matchless love? and from the brink,
Dragged from the vile crypt of his serpent lair,
Hurl him blaspheming in his writh'd despair?
No! thou hast dared the torrent—trod the waste
Through life for me—and, witness earth and air!
The heart, that but for thee to dust had passed,
Shall bleed, ere venom more upon thy truth is cast?

Let thy foes wither in the worthlessness,
The scorn of coward vengeance! that the name
Of thine assailer in thy long distress
Fitted the lips of e'en a moment's fame!
Oh, on his brow the infamies of shame,
Branded by agonies, should fall and rot
Into his heart and brain till earth should claim
No portion of his vileness, but his lot
Be with corruption which in death decayeth not!

Let the fiend hear! he hath not checked my thought—
My heritage was sorrow and hath been,
Yet poverty and grief not vain have wrought,
And I can scorn and pass the base unseen,
And deem their malice, jest, howe'er they ween!
But there shall come a time—'t is but delayed—
When ye, forgers of falsehood! cannot screen
Your bosoms from the lightning! ye have made
The storm your couch—and ye shall lie there mocked and flayed.

339

For they, the loving and beloved, whom hate
Hath hunted from the birth of being, bear
My burthen, and the trials of my fate,
Because your calumnies defile the air!
And shall ye be forgotten? when the fair
And matchless forms of earth, sea, heaven and mind
Have worn the wan looks of a soul's despair,
And I have wandered like the homeless wind,
Foreboding doubt before and many woes behind!

Hope not oblivion! e'en your bread is bought
With lies; a libel press pours out the bane
That in your rank heart festers; ye have sought
The spoils of long revenge, and by the pain
Ye round my household hearth have shed, your gain
Shall be—Derision; and in future time,
When earth casts up your names and deeds profane,
Rotting in curses, o'er your dastard crime,
The shouts of hell shall roll and hail ye to its clime!

University of Virginia Library

THE LAY OF THE FATHERLESS.