 | The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith |  |
126
THE ACORN.
“If there be an interpreter, one among a thousand.”—
Job.
Job.
Long years ago, when our headlands broke
The silent wave below,
And bird-song then the morn awoke
Where towers a city now—
When the red man saw on every cliff,
Half seen and half in shade,
A tiny form, or a pearly skiff,
That sought the forest glade,
The silent wave below,
And bird-song then the morn awoke
Where towers a city now—
When the red man saw on every cliff,
Half seen and half in shade,
A tiny form, or a pearly skiff,
That sought the forest glade,
An acorn fell from an old oak tree,
And lay on the frosty ground—
“Oh, what shall the fate of the acorn be!”
Was whispered all around,
By low-toned voices, chiming sweet,
Like a floweret's bell when swung—
And grasshopper steeds were gathering fleet,
And the beetle's hoofs up-rung—
And lay on the frosty ground—
“Oh, what shall the fate of the acorn be!”
Was whispered all around,
By low-toned voices, chiming sweet,
Like a floweret's bell when swung—
And grasshopper steeds were gathering fleet,
And the beetle's hoofs up-rung—
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For Puck-wud-jees
came careering past
In the pale autumnal ray,
Where the forest leaves were falling fast,
And the acorn quivering lay;
They came to tell what its fate should be,
Though life was unrevealed;
For life is a holy mystery.
Where'er it is concealed.
In the pale autumnal ray,
Where the forest leaves were falling fast,
And the acorn quivering lay;
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Though life was unrevealed;
For life is a holy mystery.
Where'er it is concealed.
They came with gifts that should life bestow;
The dew and the living air—
The bane that should work it deadly wo,
The little-men had there;
In the gray moss-cup was the mildew brought,
The worm, in a rose-leaf rolled,
And many things with destruction fraught,
That its doom were quickly told.
The dew and the living air—
The bane that should work it deadly wo,
The little-men had there;
In the gray moss-cup was the mildew brought,
The worm, in a rose-leaf rolled,
And many things with destruction fraught,
That its doom were quickly told.
But it needed not, for a blessed fate
Was the acorn's meant to be—
The spirits of earth should its birth-time wait,
And watch o'er its destiny.
To HIM OF THE SHELL was the task assigned
To bury the acorn deep,
Away from the frost and searching wind,
When they through the forest sweep.
Was the acorn's meant to be—
The spirits of earth should its birth-time wait,
And watch o'er its destiny.
To HIM OF THE SHELL was the task assigned
To bury the acorn deep,
Away from the frost and searching wind,
When they through the forest sweep.
'T was a dainty sight, the small thing's toil,
As bowed beneath the spade,
He balanced his gossamer wings the while
To peep in the pit he made.
A thimble's depth it was scarcely deep,
When the spade aside he threw,
And rolled the acorn away to sleep
In the hush of dropping dew.
As bowed beneath the spade,
He balanced his gossamer wings the while
To peep in the pit he made.
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When the spade aside he threw,
And rolled the acorn away to sleep
In the hush of dropping dew.
The spring-time came with its fresh, warm air,
And gush of woodland song;
The dew came down, the rain was there,
And the sunshine rested long;
Then softly the black earth turned aside,
The old leaf arching o'er,
And up, where the last year's leaf was dried,
Came the acorn-shell once more.
And gush of woodland song;
The dew came down, the rain was there,
And the sunshine rested long;
Then softly the black earth turned aside,
The old leaf arching o'er,
And up, where the last year's leaf was dried,
Came the acorn-shell once more.
With coiléd stem, and pale green hue,
It looked but a feeble thing;
Then deeply its root abroad it threw,
Strength from the earth to bring.
The woodland sprites are gathering round,
Rejoiced that the task is done—
That another life from the noisome ground
Is up to the pleasant sun.
It looked but a feeble thing;
Then deeply its root abroad it threw,
Strength from the earth to bring.
The woodland sprites are gathering round,
Rejoiced that the task is done—
That another life from the noisome ground
Is up to the pleasant sun.
The young child passed with a careless tread,
And the germ had well-nigh crushed,
But a spider, launched on her airy thread,
The cheek of the stripling brushed.
He little knew, as he started back,
How the acorn's fate was hung
On the very point in the spider's track,
Where the web on his cheek was flung.
And the germ had well-nigh crushed,
But a spider, launched on her airy thread,
The cheek of the stripling brushed.
He little knew, as he started back,
How the acorn's fate was hung
On the very point in the spider's track,
Where the web on his cheek was flung.
130
The autumn came,—it stood alone,
And bowed as the wind passed by—
The wind that uttered its dirge-like moan
In the old oak sere and dry;
The hollow branches creaked and swayed
But they bent not to the blast,
For the stout oak tree, where centuries played
Was sturdy to the last.
And bowed as the wind passed by—
The wind that uttered its dirge-like moan
In the old oak sere and dry;
The hollow branches creaked and swayed
But they bent not to the blast,
For the stout oak tree, where centuries played
Was sturdy to the last.
But the sapling had no strength as yet
Such peril to abide,
And a thousand guards were round it set
To evil turn aside.
A hunter boy beheld the shoot,
And an idle prompting grew
To sever the stalk from the spreading root,
And his knife at once he drew.
Such peril to abide,
And a thousand guards were round it set
To evil turn aside.
A hunter boy beheld the shoot,
And an idle prompting grew
To sever the stalk from the spreading root,
And his knife at once he drew.
His hand was stayed; he knew not why:
'T was a presence breathed around—
A pleading from the deep-blue sky,
And up from the teeming ground.
It told of the care that had lavished been
In sunshine and in dew—
Of the many things that had wrought a screen,
When peril around it grew.
'T was a presence breathed around—
A pleading from the deep-blue sky,
And up from the teeming ground.
It told of the care that had lavished been
In sunshine and in dew—
Of the many things that had wrought a screen,
When peril around it grew.
It told of the oak that once had bowed,
As feeble a thing to see,
But now, when the storm was raging loud,
It wrestled mightily.
There's a deeper thought on the hunter's brow,
A new love at his heart,
And he ponders much, as with footsteps slow,
He turns him to depart.
As feeble a thing to see,
But now, when the storm was raging loud,
It wrestled mightily.
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A new love at his heart,
And he ponders much, as with footsteps slow,
He turns him to depart.
Up grew the twig with a vigor bold,
In the shape of the parent tree,
And the old oak knew that his doom was told,
When the sapling sprang so free.
Then the fierce winds came, and they raging tore
The hollow limbs away;
And the damp moss crept from the earthy floor
Round the trunk, time-worn and gray.
In the shape of the parent tree,
And the old oak knew that his doom was told,
When the sapling sprang so free.
Then the fierce winds came, and they raging tore
The hollow limbs away;
And the damp moss crept from the earthy floor
Round the trunk, time-worn and gray.
The young oak grew, and proudly grew,
For its roots were deep and strong;
And a shadow broad on the earth it threw,
And the sunshine lingered long
On its glossy leaf, where the flickering light
Was flung to the evening sky;
And the wild bird sought to its airy height,
And taught her young to fly.
For its roots were deep and strong;
And a shadow broad on the earth it threw,
And the sunshine lingered long
On its glossy leaf, where the flickering light
Was flung to the evening sky;
And the wild bird sought to its airy height,
And taught her young to fly.
In acorn-time came the truant boy,
With a wild and eager look,
And he marked the tree with a wondering joy,
As the wind the great limbs shook.
He looked where the moss on the north side grew,
The gnarléd arms outspread,
The solemn shadow the huge tree threw,
As it towered above his head:
With a wild and eager look,
And he marked the tree with a wondering joy,
As the wind the great limbs shook.
He looked where the moss on the north side grew,
The gnarléd arms outspread,
The solemn shadow the huge tree threw,
As it towered above his head:
132
And vague-like fears the boy surround,
In the shadow of that tree;
So growing up from the darksome ground,
Like a giant mystery.
His heart beats quick to the squirrel's tread
On the withered leaf and dry,
And he lifts not up his awe-struck head
As the eddying wind sweeps by.
In the shadow of that tree;
So growing up from the darksome ground,
Like a giant mystery.
His heart beats quick to the squirrel's tread
On the withered leaf and dry,
And he lifts not up his awe-struck head
As the eddying wind sweeps by.
All regally the stout oak stood,
In its vigor and its pride;
A monarch owned in the solemn wood,
With a sceptre spreading wide—
No more in the wintry blast to bow,
Or rock in the summer breeze,
But draped in green, or star-like snow,
Reign king of the forest trees.
In its vigor and its pride;
A monarch owned in the solemn wood,
With a sceptre spreading wide—
No more in the wintry blast to bow,
Or rock in the summer breeze,
But draped in green, or star-like snow,
Reign king of the forest trees.
A thousand years it firmly grew,
A thousand blasts defied,
And, mighty in strength, its broad arms threw
A shadow dense and wide.
Change came to the mighty things of earth—
Old empires passed away;
Of the generations that had birth,
O Death! where, where are they?
A thousand blasts defied,
And, mighty in strength, its broad arms threw
A shadow dense and wide.
Change came to the mighty things of earth—
Old empires passed away;
Of the generations that had birth,
O Death! where, where are they?
Yet fresh and green the brave oak stood,
Nor dreamed it of decay,
Though a thousand times in the autumn wood
Its leaves on the pale earth lay.
It grew where the rocks were bursting out
From the thin and heaving soil—
Where the ocean's roar, and the sailor's shout,
Were mingled in wild turmoil—
Nor dreamed it of decay,
Though a thousand times in the autumn wood
Its leaves on the pale earth lay.
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From the thin and heaving soil—
Where the ocean's roar, and the sailor's shout,
Were mingled in wild turmoil—
Where the far-off sound of the restless deep
Came up with a booming swell;
And the white foam dashed to the rocky steep,
But it loved the tumult well.
Then its huge limbs creaked in the midnight air,
And joined in the rude uproar:
For it loved the storm and the lightning's glare,
And the wave-lashed iron shore.
Came up with a booming swell;
And the white foam dashed to the rocky steep,
But it loved the tumult well.
Then its huge limbs creaked in the midnight air,
And joined in the rude uproar:
For it loved the storm and the lightning's glare,
And the wave-lashed iron shore.
The bleaching bones of the seabird's prey
Were heaped on the rocks below;
And the bald-head eagle, fierce and gray,
Looked off from its topmost bough.
Where the shadow lay on the quiet wave
The light boat often swung,
And the stout ship, saved from the ocean grave,
Her cable round it flung.
Were heaped on the rocks below;
And the bald-head eagle, fierce and gray,
Looked off from its topmost bough.
Where the shadow lay on the quiet wave
The light boat often swung,
And the stout ship, saved from the ocean grave,
Her cable round it flung.
A sound comes down in the forest trees,
An echoing from the hill;
It floats far off on the summer breeze,
And the shore resounds it shrill.
Lo! the monarch tree no more shall stand
Like a watch-tower of the main—
A giant mark of a giant land
That may not come again.
An echoing from the hill;
It floats far off on the summer breeze,
And the shore resounds it shrill.
Lo! the monarch tree no more shall stand
Like a watch-tower of the main—
A giant mark of a giant land
That may not come again.
134
The stout old oak!—'T was a worthy tree,
And the builder marked it out;
He smiled its angled limbs to see,
As he measured the trunk about.
Already to him was a gallant bark
Careering the rolling deep,
And in sunshine, calm, or tempest dark,
Her way she will proudly keep.
And the builder marked it out;
He smiled its angled limbs to see,
As he measured the trunk about.
Already to him was a gallant bark
Careering the rolling deep,
And in sunshine, calm, or tempest dark,
Her way she will proudly keep.
The chisel clicks, and the hammer rings,—
The merry jest goes round;
While he who longest and loudest sings
Is the stoutest workman found
With jointed rib and trunnelled plank
The work goes gayly on,
And light spoke oaths, when the glass they drank,
Are heard till the task is done.
The merry jest goes round;
While he who longest and loudest sings
Is the stoutest workman found
With jointed rib and trunnelled plank
The work goes gayly on,
And light spoke oaths, when the glass they drank,
Are heard till the task is done.
She sits on the stocks, the skeleton ship,
With her oaken ribs all bare,
And the child looks up with parted lip,
As it gathers fuel there—
With brimless hat, the barefoot boy
Looks round with strange amaze,
And dreams of a sailor's life of joy
Are mingling in that gaze.
With her oaken ribs all bare,
And the child looks up with parted lip,
As it gathers fuel there—
With brimless hat, the barefoot boy
Looks round with strange amaze,
And dreams of a sailor's life of joy
Are mingling in that gaze.
135
With graceful waist and carvings brave
The trim hull waits the sea—
She proudly stoops to the crested wave,
While round go the cheerings three.
Her prow swells up from the yesty deep,
Where it plunged in foam and spray;
And the glad waves gathering round her sweep
And buoy her in their play.
The trim hull waits the sea—
She proudly stoops to the crested wave,
While round go the cheerings three.
Her prow swells up from the yesty deep,
Where it plunged in foam and spray;
And the glad waves gathering round her sweep
And buoy her in their play.
Thou wert nobly reared, oh, heart of oak!
In the sound of the ocean roar,
Where the surging wave o'er the rough rock broke,
And bellowed along the shore—
And how wilt thou in the storm rejoice,
With the wind through spar and shroud,
To hear a sound like the forest voice,
When the blast was raging loud!
In the sound of the ocean roar,
Where the surging wave o'er the rough rock broke,
And bellowed along the shore—
And how wilt thou in the storm rejoice,
With the wind through spar and shroud,
To hear a sound like the forest voice,
When the blast was raging loud!
With snow-white sail, and streamer gay,
She sits like an ocean-sprite,
Careering on her trackless way,
In sunshine or midnight:
Her course is laid with fearless skill,
For brave hearts man the helm;
And the joyous winds her canvass fill—
Shall the wave the stout ship whelm?
She sits like an ocean-sprite,
Careering on her trackless way,
In sunshine or midnight:
Her course is laid with fearless skill,
For brave hearts man the helm;
And the joyous winds her canvass fill—
Shall the wave the stout ship whelm?
On, on she goes, where icebergs roll,
Like floating cities by;
Where meteors flash by the northern pole,
And the merry dancers fly;
Where the glittering light is backward flung
From icy tower and dome,
And the frozen shrouds are gayly hung
With gems from the ocean foam.
Like floating cities by;
Where meteors flash by the northern pole,
And the merry dancers fly;
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From icy tower and dome,
And the frozen shrouds are gayly hung
With gems from the ocean foam.
On the Birman sea was her shadow cast,
As it lay like molten gold,
And her pendent shroud and towering mast
Seemed twice on the waters told.
The idle canvass slowly swung
As the spicy breeze went by,
And strange, rare music around her rung
From the palm-tree growing nigh.
As it lay like molten gold,
And her pendent shroud and towering mast
Seemed twice on the waters told.
The idle canvass slowly swung
As the spicy breeze went by,
And strange, rare music around her rung
From the palm-tree growing nigh.
Oh, gallant ship, thou didst bear with thee
The gay and the breaking heart,
And weeping eyes looked out to see
Thy white-spread sails depart.
And when the rattling casement told
Of many a perilled ship,
The anxious wife her babes would fold,
And pray with trembling lip.
The gay and the breaking heart,
And weeping eyes looked out to see
Thy white-spread sails depart.
And when the rattling casement told
Of many a perilled ship,
The anxious wife her babes would fold,
And pray with trembling lip.
The petrel wheeled in her stormy flight,
The wind piped shrill and high;
On the topmast sat a pale blue light,
That flickered not to the eye:
The black cloud came like a banner down,
And down came the shrieking blast;
The quivering ship on her beams is thrown,
And gone are helm and mast.
The wind piped shrill and high;
On the topmast sat a pale blue light,
That flickered not to the eye:
The black cloud came like a banner down,
And down came the shrieking blast;
The quivering ship on her beams is thrown,
And gone are helm and mast.
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Helmless, but on before the gale,
She ploughs the deep-troughed wave;
A gurgling sound—a phrensied wail—
And the ship hath found a grave.
And thus is the fate of the acorn told,
Which fell from the old oak tree,
And He of the shell in the frosty mould
Preserved for its destiny.
She ploughs the deep-troughed wave;
A gurgling sound—a phrensied wail—
And the ship hath found a grave.
And thus is the fate of the acorn told,
Which fell from the old oak tree,
And He of the shell in the frosty mould
Preserved for its destiny.
“ Puck-wudj-ininees—literally, little vanishers, or little wild men of the mountains [and which we have abbreviated into something a little more pronounceable], were believed by the Indians to inhabit rocky craigs and dells, frequenting the pinacles of cliffs, and delighting in romantic glens, and points of land upon lakes, rivers, and bays; especially if crowned with pine trees. The Algonquins describe them as flitting among thickets, vanishing, and reappearing and running with a whoop up the mountains. Puck-pa-wis, their leader, carries a magic shell, or tosses a ball before him.”—
Schoolcraft.It is a curious fact, that the word “Puck,” which has been thought so Shaksperian, and which has puzzled so many commentators upon the great dramatist, is a generic term in the Algonquin dialect. It requires no very great stretch of fancy to suppose that the ready ear of Shakspere caught the peculiar and most daintily appropriate term from the relations of those accomplished navigators, with whom he was undoubtedly familiar, and who, according to Gallatin and other researchers, had been for more than thirty years before the death of the great poet, intimately acquainted with that part of the coast where the Algonquin dialect was spoken, and had even attempted to colonize so early as 1585, on the coast of North Carolina, at the small island of Roanoke, which, as elsewhere on the coast, was inhabited by the Algonquin tribes.
| The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith | |