University of Virginia Library

THE POORHOUSE FUGITIVE:

BEING THE SEQUEL TO BOB THIN.

Twas morning when the Sleeper woke:
A bright, spring-wreathéd morn, whose look
Of warm, fresh joyance, with a tone
Of kindliness long-time unknown,
To the heart of the worn Pauper spoke.
'Twas like a gentle mother smiling
On a sick infant, and beguiling
Its pain with fond entanglement
Of her caresses: so was bent
Over the lone man's poverty
The fair day, smiling healthfully.
In the deep grief-tracks of his brow
And wither'd cheeks he felt the press
Of gentlest kisses, to and fro
Stealing in their tenderness,
With delicious whispering
Of gracious Nature's sympathy
Ever to us ministering;
Even in that holy alchemy
His frozen eye was sunn'd again,
His wrinkled lip forgot its pain;
And as the child, whose ail subsideth,
In its mother's bosom hideth
All its former restlessness—
So the old-time fretfulness
Of the grey man's spirit sank
On the genial earth, which drank
The memory of his wretchedness;
Till again on the clear sky
He looked with unfaltering eye.
The pauper waketh on a bed
Of mossy gold, gold-canopied
By the new oak-buds God-yspread.
'Tis a morn of blithest weather;
Such a morn as blends together
Snow-piled hearts and youthful feeling,
With a mighty love-annealing.
Where, but yesternight, the road
Like a desert pathway show'd,
With its traffic-dust obscuring
The sweet flowers, of God's procuring,
Prison'd to its ruléd side,
Troops of flowers, heaven-eyed,
Wander now; and lazily
Through their blooms the road doth glide,
Serpent-like and mazily:
And the flowers in peace abide.
Yester-even, far and wide,
Naked fields on either hand
Mock'd the traveller's weary eye;
Now his pleasant way is spann'd
With delicatest tracery,
Throng'd with gamesome choristers;
And the tiniest blade that stirs,
At the calling of the breeze
That lull'd the old man's memories,
Seems instinct with melody:
Till the charmed sense doth pine
In an ecstacy divine.
Such was the wondrous change that met
The gaze of the Poorhouse Fugitive:
He knoweth not if he may live;
Is he awake, or dreaming yet?
Or was his former life a dream?
Or are all things but as they seem?
He knoweth nought. The youngling tree,
Where he had flung his misery,
Seems century-lined: what may this be?
And now, over the pearled grass
With which the road is carpeted,
A group of noble figures pass,
Appropriately habited:
Symmetried forms, whose graceful dress
Hides not their natural comeliness:
Women and men. His spirit quails
In their high presences: as pales
The dull night when the royal Sun
Steppeth on earth, even so doth he
Shrink from that goodly company:
With a vain bashfulness: for One,
A woman glorious as the day,
Sees him, and he perforce must stay;
And faintly her behest awaits.
Her snaky lips, with smiles apart,
Seem'd like the hospitable gates
Of the bower-palace of a heart
Full-honey'd as the fragrant cells
Young insects open; her deep eyes
Clear-azured, heaven-reflecting wells
Of ever-gushing harmonies—
A mooned chorus; and the sound
Of her rich language was of such
Intensest witchery, it wound
A never-failing echo round
The listener's heart, while it did touch
The dominant chord within him. She
Sail'd tow'rd the rapt man greetingly,
Inquiring with some wonderment,
Of his new coming and intent;
But he was mute: he dared not mar
The lingering cadence of her speech
With the poor words within his reach.
Ah, me! how meanly furnish'd are
Our tongues, of our desires to teach!
The lady led him by the hand
Toward that goodly company;
Who met him with a welcome bland,
And, without further scrutiny,
Besought the stranger, if his hest
Might brook delay, to be their guest.
God! how the tears slid down the cheeks
Of the Unscourged One; he speaks
His gratitude, all loutingly;
Whereat they wonder seriously,
Beholding age so humbly borne.
“Father! why bowed thus? Art worn
With some strange grief? We, who have known
None other home-companion
Save Joy, will solace thee, if thou
Wilt journey with us.” To the brow
Of the grey-man's soul the tonguéd flame
Of comfort leaps; with glad acclaim
He pays assent: together fare
They onward, through the clear spring air.
Sudden their pleasant footway raught
The brow of an out-looking hill,
Which at that very moment caught
Upon its wreathéd window-sill
The yellow morning's first eye-twinkling,
Its blady tips and flowers sprinkling
With many an Iris-stolen gem
Of changeful hue, transmuting them
Into a royal diadem
For the true-watching hill. Hereon
The travellers halted; and anon,
Preluding in each other's eyes
The purport of their song, did don
Fresh greetings with these melodies:—

HYMN TO THE SUN.

Musing, the Pauper stood alone,
In silence, yet not sullenly,
But smiling tremulously, like one
Not heedless of another's glee,
Though his own heart hath lost its tone;
Till now, their morning service done,
They care to break their fast. Their board
A little daisied knoll, the sward
Their pleasant couch, where each one takes
An equal place: thus furnished,
Their healthful catering is outspread
By the youngest hands, whose love doth render
Brisk service, courteous and tender.
Choice their providing:—milk-white bread,—
And delicate butter, scarce discern'd
'Mong primrose-flowers, as if churn'd
By lady fairies,—and sweet cakes
Of flavour various, to suit
The fickle palate,—store of fruit—
Conserves, and other sun-dried, full
Of their fresh richness (like some hearts,
Time-wrinkled yet still beautiful,
Whose passion-shrivell'd depth imparts
A hivéd sweetness),—milk yet warm
As the taster's lips,—and thicken'd cream
Of daintiest niceness:—one might deem
No more were needful; yet the charm
Of loveliest talk, behaviour glad—
Best gratitude—doth superadd
Delight to this deliciousness,
Even as the sunny day doth bless
The landscape's wide voluptuousness.
Brief time sufficeth to content
Their temperance, for the descent
Even more hungry; eye-allured
To leave their night-long fast uncured,
And with gay feet their will o'ertake,
Round the hill's waist, like a mad snake
Or arm of wooing love, forethrown.
O, for a free bird's vagrant wing,
To track their mazy wandering,
Weaving the glad hill's living zone;
With the late “Pauper” by their side,
A pilgrim travel-glorified!
In sooth, 'twas an inviting scene
By the swift sun beholden then
From the opposite eminence: long miles
Of hill and dale, and crystal streams
Meeting the day-laugh with faint smiles,
Such as, scarce waken'd from the dreams
Of the white night that did eclipse
Their evening splendor, on brides' lips
Wait the first morning kiss. What know
Or dream we of the electric flow
And interchange of heart-contents
Blending the voicéd elements?
Deep unto deep aye answering,
In the shadow of the silent wing
Of the Eternal Passer.—On
With the glad travellers! Nought is still
In life or death. The healthful will
Halts not, ever companioned
By strenuous thought, clear as yon rill
Now with us journeying—lately leapt
From the o'erhanging mountain-head,
As if the sun-engloried wept
Its welling overflow of bliss.
See how the wild-hair'd wavelets kiss
The smooth-cheek'd pebbles; how they bound
On, on; and many a sail-less boat,
Scarce managing to keep afloat,
Bear onward with them, round and round
Whirl'd with its atom company,
Whose sympathetic gaiety
Mimics the mad brook's revelry.
Now the impetuous streamlet rushes
Over tiny precipices,
With a tone of sweet defiance;
Now from under emerald bushes,
Like a glow-worm's ray, outgushes
Thorough mossed interstices
The new-wedded waves dividing;
Now are the green bubbles hiding
Underneath the palace-eaves
Of the lowly primrose-leaves,
While in closer re-alliance
Speed the blithe waves on the way
Of their merriest roundelay:
Now chanting loudly, now low-breathing
Joy-murmurings; anon enwreathing
The bald crown of some sturdy stone;
Thence, startled at his ancient frown,
Leaping, with gurgling laughter, down;
One over other tumbling them
Carelessly 'thwart the rooty stem
Of a grey oak that, father-like,
Leans o'er the easy-temper'd dyke,
Watchful; now are they blandly stroking
The lank hair of the river-maid,
Weed-like amid their kisses laid;—
Peep in the stream! she is uplooking
Through her green sedge veil; you may see
Her lustrous brow and wavy limbs,
And 'neath long eye-lashes the glee
Of her deep-looks, and catch a glimpse
Of ripply lips that laugh outright,
Laughing there continually,
In the ever-rocking light
Nursing their hilarity,—
Merrily, merrily.
And merrily the streamlet singeth,
As on and onward aye it springeth:
Ever abroad its song it flingeth,
Gloriously.
We leap from the rock's sheer edge,
Boisterously:
With a shout and hearty laughter
Fore and after,
Joyously!
Slide we over the mossy ledge,
Lusciously,
Dreaming deliciously:
And an eternal roar rolls with us on our way.
Clear is the young spring day!
The thrilling laugh of childish glee,
And sobs and bubbling mirth, are ours
'Mid the wild flowers,—
The playful hours racing us through the heath,
Down the hill-side racing us out of breath:
And the eternal voice rolls o'er us sonorously.
An organ thunder—the dim melody
Of many instruments—a rushing throng
Of men and voices—near a charmed song,
Solemn afar, even as the voice of God;—
And heaven is children-trod;—
Over the many hills the same bright tune
Singing to sun and moon;
High company upon the hills we had;
Were not we glad,
Leaping from crag to crag?
Leaping from crag to crag;
Hiding behind the masses of the rocks;
Deem'd from afar to be the shining flocks
Of God upon the mountains fed,
Everywhere scattered;
Now as a silver thread
Along the deep ravine
The torrent speedeth; and again between
The massed rocks, fall after fall,
With uproar musical,
Bounding from crag to crag, on travel we.
Anon our passage free
A mountain wall hath stopp'd;
And we lie chafing in the fond distress
Of wayward pettishness,
Boiling with childish rage,
Till gentler tones assuage
Impetuosity.
Still, still hold watch and ward!
A postern is unbarr'd:
Through the quick gap our damm'd-up waters gush
All eagerly;
And our high song hath dropp'd
Adown the steeps of life, and youthhood's flush
Floweth more steadily.
Continueth our glee
Through the wide meadows, through the long lush grass;
Our jocund course between
The great grand trees, who in our changeful glass
Gaze, as a seer into a depth of dreams:
Queenliest trees, proud-form'd, with port serene!
And now our many streams
Are blending, and the mountain alleys,
Merged in one broad road, plunge toward the valleys,
While o'er our torrent force the hill-song leaps.
And here and there uppeeps
Through grassy hair the rude and weird face
Of some grey rock, one of the giant race
Of our bleak birthplace, grey as the memories
Of an uncultured world, the asperities
Of our progressive life; and still in sight
The ancient hill appears, its head in heaven;
And little rustic homelinesses
Welcome the mountain-born with flower-wreathing,
Bright buttercups, primroses quiet-breathing,
Rich-scented chestnut-bloom;
And in the torrent's foam
The sweet May dips her tresses,
Scarcely distinct:—On, on the waves are driven;
As o'er us the old mountain voice still hovers,
And every turn discovers
New beauty; other streamlets pour,
Like other minds, their flood of thought,
Or other beings influence, brought
From many a distance, hour by hour;
And the stream swells its volume, and the tide
Of power is amplified;
And earth is fertilized, field-glories wave,
And human dwellings stand on either side;
While with melodious stave
The river saileth through the busy scene,
And o'er it most serene
The hill-song, like a heaven-burden, hovers.
Now, like two eager lovers,
Two fair streams mingle hearts, and our full song
Is the quick panting of voluptuous life
The harvest fields among,
Beneath heaven-arched skies with blithest warblings rife:
And our sunn'd face is flush'd even as a bride's;
And many a trickling kiss in music glides,
Like molten silver bells, our features o'er—
A chorus liquefied of birds and flowers:
Such ecstasy is ours.
Yet still floats o'er our life the distant roar
Of the far mountain hymn; God whispers as of old.
Sweet converse hold
The lovers, never more to be divided:
Two streaming lives that from the first have glided
Together-ward, two hearts into one fold.
The travellers have embark'd, and sail,
Smooth-water'd and with prosperous gale,
The purpose of the day to greet:
The old man with the weary feet
Resting among them. Sure is he
That angels are his company.
On, on, by golden-vestured trees,
Standing like thoughtful deities
Beholding their own images
In the clear current; by gay meads,
And towering fertilities,
And gorgeous growths sprung from the seeds
Of the unforgotten Paradise;
Above the dreamy world that lies
In the river-depth,—of giant forest,
Tangled dells and caves umbrageous,
Labyrinths such as thou explorest
With deep eye and thought courageous,
When the mystic veil is riven
Of the Spirit (such a world
Seemeth in the waters furl'd):
Through and over these they sail
With smooth course; the gentle gale
Echoing the dying fall
Of the wavelets lyrical;
The clear brow of blue-eyed heaven
Smilingly o'erarching all.
A glorious company are they
Voyaging on the waters there,
With hearts as warm and thoughts as gay
And outward-brilliant as the day;
And the old “Pauper” hath his share
Of pleasantness, and, joy-beguiled,
New-hearted as a little child,
No longer sleepeth with despair,
But looketh down the stream, and sees
The current fighting with the breeze,
Till, kindling in the noontide rays,
The river seemeth one wide blaze
Of emerald and diamond,
Or as the river-god had donn'd
A panoply of steel; and splashing
Through green boughs the sun-looks glare,
Like the eyes of wood-nymphs, flashing
Through their shade of leafy hair;
And, as over human fate
Joy and sorrow alternate,
Sunny sheen and cloudy shadow
Pass o'er stream and banking meadow:
The strong earth-heart underneath
Thankfully continueth.
And now the grey-man's wistful eyes
Many on old scene recognise
In the windings of the river;
Making his worn lips to quiver
With emotion violent.
But the buried time mis-spent
May not vex his memory.
Look not back on misery
Lagging far behind!—The noon
Folds the sun in fierce embrace,
Like two lovers, face to face,
Mingling in a passion-swoon.
And the travellers leap ashore;
And toward the Place of Games
Bear their upward course, with store
Of hopeful strength that never lames;
Nor pause on the hill-top to ponder
On the wide, untrack'd river, yonder
Calmly sloping to the sea,
Like age toward eternity:—
The lark in the sky sings merrily:—
But to the bosom of the valley
Whither their long voyage tended
Stoutly step they, way-befriended
Now by many groups that rally
Tow'rd one purpose, till the road
Is gladden'd with a mighty crowd.
Beautiful the village show'd,
In the forest heart embower'd;
Every cottage over-flower'd,
Every cottage link'd by flowers
To its neighbour; every dwelling—
With its garden plot, for use,
Or for pomp voluptuous—
Like a form of beauty, telling
Of the spirit homed within,
Of a soul of healthful powers
All luxuriantly swelling
Into perfect beauty: towers
Of homeliest comfort, with the ease
And graceful art of palaces,—
Palace-nests amid the trees.
Swift to your place! the games begin.
From the palace gates are welling
Glorious creatures, such as trod
Eden by the side of God,
Artist visions, form'd to please
A Raphael or Praxitiles;
To a glade o' the forest wending,
With palm branches o'er them bending,
With glad hymns and festal looks,
And clear current as a brook's.
And now in the amphitheatre
Many a long way traveller
Hath his seat; and room for all
To behold the festival
Under the massive boughs is found;
And in the midst a cleared ground
For the gamesters. Hush! the voice
Of women, and the merry song
Of children, bird-like, mounts among
The branches, till the woods rejoice
To echo that sweet treble; then
The fuller tenor of the men
Upbears the anthem on strong wings
Of melody; and then again
The solemn bass down-draws the strain
Earthward. And now the twanging strings
Of youthful archers, and the whiz
O' the many arrows: yon fair boy
With the golden locks—the prize is his,
And his blue flower-like eyes are dew'd with joy.
And now with starting eyes, and feet
Scarce on the ground, tiptoe, and now
O'er the smooth course and up the brow
Of the rough broken hill, compete
The wing'd-heel'd racers. Now their place
The wrestlers take, and face to face
Stand lock'd, till, for the strong embrace
Incompetent, the overthrown
Measures the soft turf; and a crown
Of fragrance, and loud-clapping palms,
Reward the victor; while kind alms
Of great forbearance wreathe the fallen-down.
And now, with practised eye and poise
Most graceful, two scarce-bearded boys
Confront each other; strong and wary
And quick-handed; foil with foil
Lightly engaged. The dexterous feint,
And rapid lunge, and swifter parry,
The recovery, the coil,
The disentangling,—till one's breath is spent.
A hit!—young oak-leaves for his head!
Now the more strenuous games are sped:
And weapon'd with keen words, with shield
Of hard and lustrous sense, the field
Prompt arguers take; nor with mere words
Of logic, but with mighty swords
Of forgéd thought maintain the war.
And now the Poet, like a star
Heading the Wise, his silver beams
Pours mellowingly, till at the feet
Of blessed childhood once again they meet,
The Magi of the earth, folded in blissful dreams.
The Poorhouse Fugitive, he deems
That Sleep, mother of calm, is his,
And all the soul-entangling bliss
Her love can harbinger; he seems
Bathed in delight, intoxicate
With his new life. Hath he the key
Of Faëry turn'd, and changed his state?
Or hath he learn'd the mystery
Of loveliness?—the eye perceives
That only which the heart believes.
The windows of the heart were dull;
Now all around is beautiful.
And One beside him doth relate
The meaning of their festival:
How met they to commemorate
A great deliverance,—from all
The ancient tyrannies of Wrong—
The tyrannies of rank-grown Will,
And sordid Trade (more selfish still),
And all the errors that belong
To the blind worker for self-gain,
And all the miseries in his train
Close following—corroding care,
And waste of energies, despair
Heart-deadening.—Even while he spoke,
This song the chain of memory broke.

THE SONG