University of Virginia Library

If thou art one who in thy early years
Wert wont to gaze delighted on the clouds,
High-piled and floating on the silent wind,—
If then the wish arose within thy heart
To sit on those white banks of down, and thence
To look on the green earth and glittering streams,—
If thou didst wonder who they were that walked
Those shining hills of heaven and dwelt within
The palaces that flamed so gloriously
With gold and crimson in the setting sun,—
To thee, and such as thou, may I not tell
This tale of cloudland in our father's time.

Beneath the soft rays of the westering sun
A matron and a damsel sat and watched
The trains of cloud that touched the neighboring steeps
And slid from cliff to cliff. The elder dame
Was of majestic mien, with calm, dark eyes,
That seemed to read the inmost thoughts of those
On whom they looked. “It should not be,” she said.
“I grieve that Hubert thus should leave the walks
Of daily duty for these wanderings
Among the mountain mists. Plead as thou wilt,
Life has its cares, my daughter, graver cares,
That may not be put by.” Then Mary spoke—
A budding beauty, with soft hazel eyes,
And glossy chestnut hair whose wandering curls
The sunshine turned to gold. “Nay, blame him not,
For not in vain he walks the mountain height,
Where the clouds cling and linger. Pleasant 'tis
To hear him, sitting in our porch at eve,
When all the meadow grounds within this vale
Twinkle with fire-flies, tell what he has seen
From his high perch—I know not how—the march
Of armies, and their meeting in the shock
Of battle, and the couriers posting forth
To the four winds with news of victory,
Won by the yeoman's arm.”
“Yet seest thou not,”
Rejoined the stately lady Isabel,
“That Hubert's fitter place were in the ranks
Of those brave men, that, led by Washington,
Defy the hosts of Britain?” “It were well,”
Said Mary, “that he too should bear his part
In this great war of freedom; yet, I pray,
Think what he is—a dreamer from his birth.
Ever, apart from the resorts of men,
He roamed the pathless woods, and hearkened long
To winds that brought into their silent depths
The nearness of the mountain water-falls.
What should he do in battle?” Then she said,
Gathering fresh boldness in her brother's cause,
“Think how, since he began to wander forth
Among the mountain-peaks, the region round
Has had the kindest seasons. Never drought
Embrowns the grassy fields, nor jagged hail
Tears tender leaf and flower; cloud-shadows make
A screen against the burning sunshine poured
Too freely from the August sky, and showers
Drop gently at due times. All summer long
Sleep the luxuriant meadows, and keep full
The clear fresh springs and gurgling rivulets;
The early and late frosts surprise not here
The husbandman, but when the air grows sharp,
Soft vapors rise, beneath whose friendly veil
The green blood of the herbage curdles not
To ice; the winds of winter toss no more
The deep snow into heaps, but softly fall
The flakes, a kindly covering for the earth
With all its sleeping germs, till April suns
Melt it to crystal for the merry brooks.
Mother, the herdsmen of our vale owe thanks
To Hubert for the wealth that crowns the year,
And I have seen—”
The maiden checked her speech,
For the calm eyes of Isabel were turned
Full on her own; that grave look startled her.
“Speak on,” the matron said. “What hast thou seen?”

“It was but yesterday,” the maid replied,
“A white low-lying cloud swam gently in,
Touching our mountain pastures where they meet
The rocky woods above them. Hubert stepped
From its thick folds, and as they rolled away
I plainly saw a chariot cushioned deep
With sides that seemed of down, and skirt-like wings
On which they nestled. One fair form within
Was seated, flinging from the finger tips
Of her white hands a thousand kind adieus
To Hubert where he stood. It was as though
A pearly cloud had taken human shape;
I saw the round white arms; a coronet
Of twinkling points, like sparks of sunshine, bound
Her forehead, and a gauzy scarf, whose tint
Was of the spring heaven's softest, tenderest blue,
Streamed from her shoulder. As I looked, the form
Took fainter outlines, and the twinkling points
Around her brow grew paler, till at length
I only saw a cloud-wreath, floating off
On the slow wind; yet must I now believe
That Hubert holds communion in strange sort
With creatures of the upper element,
Whose dwelling is the cloud, who guide the shower
From vale to vale, and shed the snows, and fling
The lightnings? Therefore, said I, that our vale
Owes thanks to Hubert for its genial skies.”

Here spake the matron. “Art thou then become,”
She said, “a dreamer as thy brother is?
Think not that he who moulded in his hand
The globe, and filled the chambers of the sky
With the ever-flowing air, hath need to use
The ministries thou speakest of. He looks
Upon these vapory curtains of the earth,
And so they darken into drifts of rain
Or whiten into snow. His thunders, launched
From the remotest West, ere thou canst speak
Are quivering at the portals of the East.
The winds blow softly where he bids, or rise
In fury, tearing from their hold in earth
The helpless oaks and twisting the huge pines
In twain, and flinging them among the clouds.
Nay, speak more reverently, and leave to God
His thunders.”
“Reverently,” the maid replied,
“I ever speak of him whose hand I see
In all the motions of the elements.
Yet hath he living agents, so our faith
Hath taught us: messengers that do his will
Among the unconscious nations—such as led
The Hebrew from the Cities of the Plain,
When heaven rained fire upon their guilty roofs;
And haply is there blame if we should deem
That in the middle air abides a race
Thoughtful and kind, who at His bidding roll
The clouds together, measuring out to man
The rains and dews, and tempering the hot noon,
With shadow chasing shadow o'er the vale?”

The matron pondered as the maiden urged
Her plea, and then was silent for a while.
But Mary spoke again. “Look, mother, look!
How gloriously about the sinking sun
The flamy clouds are gathered! Lofty towers
Rise from those purple streets. Who looks abroad
From their high battlements? Behold where moves
A long procession of the shining ones,
Tall kings and stately queens with sweeping trains,
Warriors in glittering mail, and cardinals
In scarlet robes, and bearded counsellors,
Thin-haired with age, and light-limbed followers,
And mingled with the diadems I see
Helm, mitre, and tiara, while above
Rise spear, and mace, and crosses, and broad sheets
Of banner floating in the rosy air.
Oh, never was on earth a pageant seen
So gorgeous, furnished from her richest ores,
And beds of jewels, and the subtlest looms
That weave the silk-worm's thread in lustrous webs.
For all are pale beside the glory born
Of these bright vapors round the setting sun.
There is no sight so fair this side of heaven.”

The stately matron heard, and looked, and smiled.
“Thus doth thy fancy cheat thy willing eye,”
She said. “The freakish wind among the mists
Moulds them as sculptors mould the yielding clay,
Fashioning them to thousand antic shapes
Beneath the evening blaze. Thy ready thought
Couples their outline, and bestows the forms
That rise in thine own mind. Thou shouldst have lived
When, on his canvas, Paul the Veronese
Laid his magnificent throngs of goodly men
And glorious ladies in their rich attire.
Thou shouldst have been his pupil. Yet behold,
Even while we speak the sunset glory fades,
And the clouds settle into purple bars
Athwart the depths of that transparent sky
Through which the day withdraws. A chilly breath
Comes up from the moist meadows. Let us hence.”

Then rose the pair and took the homeward path;
And from the windows of their dwelling saw
The night come down upon their vale, and heard
The heavy rushing of her wind among
The neighboring maples, mingled with the brawl
Of mountain-brooks, while from the thicket near
The whippoorwill sent forth his liquid note,
Piercing that steady murmur. As the shades
Grew deeper, Isabel and Mary knelt
To say their evening prayer, and by their side
Knelt Hubert, for the simple reverence taught
In childhood kept its hold upon his heart.
They prayed the Merciful to guide and shield
And pardon—then withdrew, with kindly words
Of parting, each to rest. A rising mist
Meantime had quenched the stars, and o'er the earth
Shower after shower, with gentle beating, ran,
As if a fairy chase were in the air,
And myriads of little footsteps tapped
The roof above the household. Mary slept
To the soft sounds, and dreamed. The glorious throng
Which her quick fancy pictured in the clouds
Of sunset had laid by their bright attire—
Such was her dream—and now in trailing robes,
Sad colored, and in hoods of sober gray,
Went drifting through the air and beckoning up
The troops of mist from lake and rivulet,
And leading through mid-sky the shadowy train,
And pointing where to halt in deep array
Above the expectant fields and shed the rain.

So wore the night away. The murmuring showers
Lengthened the slumbers in that mountain lodge,
Until, as morn drew near, the parting clouds
Opened a field in the clear eastern sky,
In which the day-star glittered, and the dawn
Glowed on the horizon's edge. On either side
They ranged themselves to catch the earliest beams,
Scarlet or golden, of the approaching sun;
As when within a city's crowded streets
The gathered multitude divide and leave
Large space to let some glorious monarch pass.