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119
TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD.
(DEAF AND DUMB.)
I
Oh! where is now the famed Praxitelès,Who from the marble called forth forms divine?
But never saw he in the Ægean Seas
A figure mirrored half so fair as thine—
Never imagined, floating on the breeze,
(Or bending o'er the temple's pillared shrine,
Pausing to hear the dulcet Grecian lute,)
A shape so beautiful, so seraph-like, and mute.
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II
Such forms as thine, bending the cloudy goldRound the sun-dimming throne of the Most High,
In their white hands the eternal flower-wreaths hold,
And strew the star-paved pathways of the sky
With amaranths, whose bright bells never fold.
If thou wert one of those, oh! tell us why
To visit earth thou hadst permission given?
Alas! thou must not breathe the silver tones of heaven.
III
Or art thou some fair spirit of the flowers,Sent out to watch the silent summer dress,
To feed their buds with dew, their bells with showers,
Till each becomes a “Flower of Loveliness?”
Or, when the moonbeams light the jasmine bowers,
Dost press their starry blooms with sweet caress?
Perchance amid their fragrance we might find
Thy voice, as to and fro they wave before the wind.
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IV
Thou shouldst have dwelt in Eden's tranquil vale,'Mid doves, and swans, that float like soundless snow,
Or slept in beds, edged by the lily pale,
Where star-rimmed daisies and blue violets blow,
And red-streaked woodbines round the roses trail;
Thy playmates infant angels, such as throw
The gold-leaved champaks on the balmy wind,
Or with celestial flowers each other's ringlets bind.
V
Such forms as thine we oft see in the night,Sailing in dreams across the star-steep blue,
Through their arched scarfs the moonbeams streaming bright,
While their long hair assumes a pale gold hue:
Such feet in silent forest-glades alight,
And from the wild-flowers shake the trembling dew;
Wood-nymph, and Faun, and Dryad—shapes that gleam
Before the half-shut eye, when only poets dream.
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VI
And thou canst view the sky, and sweet green trees,And no sad sigh can ever reach thine ear;
Thou 'rt innocent as doves, or wandering bees;
Thy silent tongue can never slander bear;
The flowers, the gentle lambs, morn's earliest breeze,
Are not from sin and calumny more clear:
Like all fair things,—bee, blossom, bud, or bird,
Thou canst no evil know,—canst speak no sinful word.
VII
And thou, fair mother of that fairer child!The taller flower, above the lesser bending,
With gentle eyes, like a May-morning mild,
In all its glow of blue and bright descending—
Oh! guard her well: let no wind whistling wild,
No pain, and care, for her young heart contending
Leave it a waste—but like a jealous dove,
Bend o'er her day and night thy starry eyes of love.
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VIII
I saw her beauteous head on thee recline,And fondly didst thou press her to thy heart;
And one sat by—fair woman's loveliest shrine—
Oh! could I but have played the painter's part,
I would, ere this, have formed a group divine;
But then those eyes—no! they eclipse all art!
Farewell, fair child!—a mother's arms will press thee,
And, though thou knowest it not, a poet's lips will bless thee.
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