The poems of John G. C. Brainard A new and authentic collection, with an original memoir of his life |
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THE GNOME AND THE PADDOCK.
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 | The poems of John G. C. Brainard |  |
THE GNOME AND THE PADDOCK.
WHAT THE GNOME SAID TO THE PADDOCK IN A BLASTED ROCK.
I am a Gnome, and this old Granite ledge
My home and habitation, since the days
When the big floods brake up, and massy rain
Fell deluge upon deluge, to the earth,—
When lightning, hot and hissing, crinkled by
Each scathed and thunder-blasted twig that showed
Its leaf above the waters. Years had passed,
And centuries too, when by this sheltered side
The Indian built his fire, and ate his samp,
And laid him down—how quietly—beneath
The shadow of this rock. 'T was great to him,
And in a weary land. For yonder, where
The school-boy flies his kite, and little girls
Seek four-leaved clover—there the Buffalo
Led his wild herd. There once, and only once,
The Mammoth stalked. Thou, Paddock, heard'st his tread,
But I,—I saw him. By this very rock—
This little ledge he passed. Three stately steps!
And every rough and wooded promontory
Trembled.
My home and habitation, since the days
When the big floods brake up, and massy rain
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When lightning, hot and hissing, crinkled by
Each scathed and thunder-blasted twig that showed
Its leaf above the waters. Years had passed,
And centuries too, when by this sheltered side
The Indian built his fire, and ate his samp,
And laid him down—how quietly—beneath
The shadow of this rock. 'T was great to him,
And in a weary land. For yonder, where
The school-boy flies his kite, and little girls
Seek four-leaved clover—there the Buffalo
Led his wild herd. There once, and only once,
The Mammoth stalked. Thou, Paddock, heard'st his tread,
But I,—I saw him. By this very rock—
This little ledge he passed. Three stately steps!
And every rough and wooded promontory
Trembled.
And for his voice—'t was musical,
And though too sonorous for human ear,
Yet to a Gnome 't was wondrous—exquisite;
For every vein of undiscovered ore
Rang in full harmony to that bold tone.
From the wild surface to the lowest depth,
And through, and round the pillars of the earth,
Were silver streaks and golden radiants
That trembled through their courses, when a note
Congenial waked their low, sweet, solemn sound.
And though too sonorous for human ear,
Yet to a Gnome 't was wondrous—exquisite;
For every vein of undiscovered ore
Rang in full harmony to that bold tone.
From the wild surface to the lowest depth,
And through, and round the pillars of the earth,
Were silver streaks and golden radiants
That trembled through their courses, when a note
Congenial waked their low, sweet, solemn sound.
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But hush thee, Paddock! Good-by once for all—
There comes old Burdick with an iron rod,
And near him, one who with a powder-flask
Will blow us both sky-high. Adieu, sweet vestal,
And when I meet you in a museum
Do not forget me, dearest!
There comes old Burdick with an iron rod,
And near him, one who with a powder-flask
Will blow us both sky-high. Adieu, sweet vestal,
And when I meet you in a museum
Do not forget me, dearest!
| The poems of John G. C. Brainard | |